Della (Cowboys and Debutantes Book 2)

by Vivi Holt

  When he reached the door, he was floored. The entire apartment was lit by a series of lanterns set jauntily around the place. There were no dirty clothes on the settee or armchair. A bunch of fresh wildflowers stood in a vase in the center of a clean coffee table. He removed his hat and hung it on the coat rack beside Della’s bonnet. “Della?” he called.

  There was a rustle from the bedroom and Della emerged, pretty as a prairie hen, an apron tied neatly around her small waist. She smiled and hurried to embrace him, much to his surprise. “Clem, you’re home. Did you have a nice day?”

  “Yes, I did, thank ya. Though I’m glad to be home.”

  She smiled. “Well, go wash up for supper. We’re having chicken and dumplings tonight, with carrots and fresh baked bread.”

  As he washed up, he wondered what was going on. He glanced around the bedroom, looking for the mounds of soiled clothing undoubtedly stashed somewhere. But the room sparkled like a new pin - the bed was made, the floor cleared of all debris. Even the furniture shone as though it had been polished.

  He marched back into the kitchen to help Della with the meal, but she’d already set everything on the dining table and stood waiting for him by his chair. The table was clean, another vase of freshly cut flowers, and all the dishes washed and stacked neatly on their shelves. “What’s happened in here?” he stammered.

  “I cleaned up,” Della announced with glee. “Well, not alone. Honey, Francisca and Abella came over and showed me how to wash dishes, scrub dirty laundry, make beds, dust, even polish furniture. What do you think?”

  He nodded in silence, spinning around to take it all in. “It’s amazin’, Della. Yer amazin’.” He saw her eyes fill with satisfaction at his words. With a few short strides, he was by her side and wrapped his arms around her, making her gasp. “Darlin’, I’m so proud of ya. Ya tackle every obstacle ya meet and ya do it with so much grace. I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful wife.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, one escaping to run down her pink cheek. He wiped it away with a fingertip, then kissed the cheek where the tear had carved its path. His lips traveled downward, kissing gently and tenderly as he went, until he reached her parted lips. She trembled in his arms, and he could bear it no longer.

  She’d awakened feelings in him he never thought possible. She was so beautiful, and right before his eyes she was transforming from a self-centered, spoiled city girl into a woman of substance. In the past few weeks, she’d shown kindness to him, and to others — he’d heard how she’d helped Honey, who’d come to the bank the previous day, asking about a loan. She wanted to start a business, selling homemade meals to the workingmen of the town, thanks to Della’s idea and encouragement. He’d never have believed the woman he met at the train station could become the amazing woman who shivered so enticingly in his arms.

  With a soft groan, he pulled her tighter and pressed his lips against hers. She melted in his embrace, and her lips sought his hungrily, exciting a new level of desire within him.

  When he pulled away, her eyes were still closed, her lashes dark half moons against her pale cheeks. He smiled and kissed her forehead softly. “Shall we eat, Mrs. White?” he asked with a smirk.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she sighed. “Yes. Let’s eat.”

  They sat at the table, and this time when he said the blessing, she finally seemed comfortable holding his hand. The meal tasted as delicious as it smelled. He felt as if he’d fallen into some kind of dream where everything he’d ever hoped for was coming true. He smiled at the thought. “How’re ya doin’, Della? Ya finally growin’ to like it here in Livingston?”

  She paused for a moment, her spoon poised over her bowl. “I suppose it’s growing on me. Though I do miss my family - my cousin Effie especially. She was my best friend in the whole wide world, and now she’s somewhere in Oregon. I miss my sisters and all my other friends. I miss the balls and soirees and wagon rides through Central Park and going to shows on Broadway. Livingston is …”

  “What?” he gently urged.

  “It’s … ugly,” she said, her cheeks blushing pink. “I’m sorry, I know I sound ungrateful. But this town is so raw and dusty and full of dirty, smelly, unkempt miners.”

  He laughed. “That’s true. Though the territory’s as beautiful as any landscape ya can find, I’d reckon.”

  She nodded. “I do enjoy looking at the mountains in the distance. They are pretty.”

  He laid down his spoon and took her hand. “I’ll tell ya what, darlin’. How about we go outta town in the wagon after church tomorrow? We’ll have a picnic, ‘n I can take ya to see someplace that’s special for me. What do ya say?”

  She nodded and dipped her spoon into the soup, finding a dumpling. “That sounds nice,” she said.

  He grinned. “Yer gonna love it.”

  Chapter 7

  The church pew was hard, and Della fidgeted, smoothing her skirts over her bent knees and tucking her crossed ankles demurely below her seat. She smiled at Clem who sat beside her, then stood, one gloved hand on his strong forearm, as they sang the final hymn.

  As soon as the service was over, Honey rushed to her side, her grin wide. She kissed Della’s cheek and took her hands between her own. “Della, how are you?”

  “Fine, thank you. How about you?”

  “Fine, fine. You know, I completely sold out yesterday - can you believe it? I’m baking all day while the kids are at school and it’s all selling! Yesterday’s pies were all that was left over from Friday’s baking and now they’re gone as well. It’s wonderful! Thank you so much for the idea and for buying the ingredients to get me started.” She held her breath a moment and glanced at Clem. “Sorry,” she mouthed to Della.

  Clem stared straight ahead, pretending he didn’t hear, but a hint of a smile snuck across his mouth.

  Della shook her head with a laugh. “It’s fine.”

  Just then, Francisca and Abella joined them. Francisca wore an impressive hat with a cockade of black and blue feathers to match her black gown. Ringlets cascaded down from a high pile of curls on top of her head. Abella’s style was more severe, with a tight bun and a fitted gray gown with white lace trim. “I have had a wonderful idea,” said Francisca with a laugh. “We should all go mining next Saturday.”

  “Mining?” Della frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “It is not mining, really,” said Abella, playfully slapping Francisca’s arm. “Panning for gold. You stand in a creek bed and swirl water and silt around in a pan. Any gold you find, you keep. What could be better?”

  “Do tell,” added Honey, one eyebrow arched.

  “Well, you know Hans pans for gold,” Francisca explained. “He used to do more, but now he works at the lumber yard most days. Still, he goes when he can - he says it is soothing, and he finds a nugget sometimes. He asks and asks me to go with him, and I have not - it sounded so dull. But if I have friends with me, it might be fun. We could pack a picnic lunch and take a walk. What do you think?”

  Della looked at Clem, who smiled back. “That sounds nice,” he said. “We’d love to come - wouldn’t we, Della?”

  Della clapped her hands and grinned. “Oh yes, we would.”

  “That’s it then - I’m in,” said Honey with a snap of her fingers. “Well, if I can bring the kids …”

  “Of course,” Francisca assured her. “They will be no trouble.”

  Abella nodded. “I am sure Stanley would enjoy it too. We will be there.”

  The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the trails set a steady rhythm and Della found herself humming along to it. She blushed when she realized what she was doing and smiled.

  “Don’t stop,” said Clem with a grin. “Ya got a lovely voice. I could listen to it all day long.”

  She laughed. “You’re too kind.”

  “So,” he said, “what do ya think of the view now? Not so ugly anymore?”

  She shook her head. “Not ugl
y at all - it’s spectacular. You were right - we just needed to get out of town. It can be a bit much, all the drunken shouting and bawdy laughter, the dance hall pianos and fiddles and the constant drone of the flies. And the dust - ugh!”

  His eyebrows shot skyward and he chuckled beneath his breath. “It ain’t that bad, is it?”

  “I suppose not. But it is nice to be out in the country.”

  “I reckon New York City gets purty ugly at times too.” He pushed his hat back with one hand and shifted the reins into the other.

  “Yes, it can. But where we lived on the Upper East Side was lovely. The streets were swept clean, and the lawns were covered in brilliant green grass, all manicured to perfection. The houses were well-maintained and painted in soft colors. And there were plenty of trees in our neighborhood. I loved the trees — in the fall, their trunks would be black and stark against the oranges, reds and yellows of the leaves before they drifted to the ground. Oh, it was lovely. Of course, plenty of places in the city weren’t as pretty, but our street was beautiful.” Her mind drifted, pondering happy childhood memories.

  He slipped an arm behind her back and pulled her close. “It’ll be beautiful here too one day, mark my words,” he whispered against her hair before kissing it softly.

  She laid her head on his shoulder, sighed and listened to the birds trilling around them.

  The trail led down to a bubbling brook, and Clem pulled up on the reins. He helped Della from the wagon, his hands wrapped firmly about her waist, and set her on the ground. “Does this suit?” he asked, motioning toward the creek bed.

  “It’s perfect,” sighed Della. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare and spotted a large oak tree by the water’s edge. Its sprawling branches shaded the creek bank, and its strong trunk looked like the perfect place to rest one’s back.

  Clem fixed the horse a feed bag, then handed Della a picnic rug. Hoisting the basket of food out of the wagon bed, he offered her his arm and they walked together toward the oak. Della spread the blanket out in the shade and sat down, tucking her feet beneath her. Clem settled beside her and passed her the basket.

  “Let’s see now,” she began, opening the basket. “There’s fried chicken, potatoes, bread rolls and apple pie.” She pulled each item out as she spoke and laid them on the blanket.

  Clem plucked a daisy from the ground beside him and leaned forward to tuck it behind Della’s ear. His hand strayed from the flower and ran down the side of her face and the length of her neck. “Beautiful, just like you,” he said shyly.

  “Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed with warmth and she felt a bubble of happiness well up within her.

  He sat back and slipped his hat from his head, setting it on the blanket beside him. “Ya know, I never imagined I’d be so blessed to find a wife as beautiful, smart and fun as ya are.”

  “Well, you’re not quite what I expected either,” she said with a smirk.

  He burst out in a loud guffaw and she joined him. “I’ll bet,” he said once he caught his breath. Then, more seriously, “but I hope it ain’t all bad.”

  She patted his arm gently. “No, not all bad. Not bad at all.”

  He tore his eyes from hers and pointed across the stream. “Over yonder on the other side of the brook is my land.”

  Della frowned and sat up straighter, peering in the direction he pointed. “What? What do you mean, your land?”

  “It’s my homestead. It was granted to me by the government - I own it.”

  She frowned. “You own that land over there?”

  “Yep. A hundred and sixty acres worth.”

  Della gaped. That was a quarter-mile of land - a plot that size in New York City would make a man a millionaire! “Wh-what do you intend to do with it.”

  He slid onto his side and rested his head on his hand. “Most of it I’ll divvy up and sell. But I plan to keep a few acres and make it into a little ranch someday. Whaddaya think of that?” he asked with a grin.

  “I’m not entirely sure. Don’t you like being a banker?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I do, and I don’t intend to give it up. But I’d also like to raise a few horses - I’ve always loved horses, Morgans especially. Ma and Pa had a horse ranch, ‘n I used to train the horses and ride ‘em everywhere. Beautiful creatures.” He stuck a piece of grass between his teeth and began to chew it slowly, scanning the sky overhead with narrowed eyes. “They lost their ranch to the bank after the war. I decided then that one day I’d own a Morgan ranch. And in the meantime, I’d start my own bank so no one could ever take the ranch from me.”

  “Oh, I see.” Della’s chest tightened at his words. It was obvious he’d been through pain just as she had. He understood how it felt to lose everything, since he’d once been in a similar situation. She drew in a deep breath and smiled. “Well, I think it will make a beautiful horse ranch. It’s just about perfect.”

  “Ya think ya’d mind livin’ all the way out here?” he asked, concerned.

  “It’s not so far. Besides, no saloons, no dance halls, no drunken miners brawling or singing - I’m sure I’d absolutely love it.” They both laughed again as Della fixed Clem a plate of food.

  He took it hungrily, his fingers caressing hers as he did. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Della watched him take a bite of the fried chicken and relished his enjoyment of the dish. The confession of his hopes and dreams for the future had surprised her - she’d never considered that he might wish for more than what he had now. She’d resigned herself to spend their lives living above the bank in that cramped apartment, even pictured it teaming with children fighting over who got to sleep against the wall and who had to share the sofa.

  Yet this … she smiled to herself. She could definitely imagine living out here in a comfortable ranch house, with horses grazing nearby and majestic mountain peaks framing the northern horizon. That was a future she could look forward to.

  Chapter 8

  Francisca slid down the creek bank with a screech and landed on her rear in the mud, then threw her hands in the air and laughed out loud. Honey and her five children soon followed, each one careening down in the same fashion. Squeals filled the air, along with laughter and the chatter of easy conversation.

  Della smiled. She was about to pan for gold for the first time, and she shivered with excitement - what if she found a gold nugget? There was certainly a chance, though Hans Schmidt said the area had been mostly stripped clean during the gold rush of the 1860s. Still, she found herself flush with nerves that it was even possible. She walked behind Abella as the rest of the group worked their way down toward the rushing waters below. She could feel Clem behind her, the tingle in her back when his fingertips brushed against her. They didn’t often get an entire day to spend together and she’d been looking forward to this outing all week.

  Once they reached the creek bed, Hans handed out pans and showed them how to fill them with sand and water from the stream, then tip the pan back and forth, back and forth, checking all the while for any flashes within. A long timber flume left over from the ‘60s ran along one side of the creek, the sluice at the end sitting just above the water’s surface. The worn structure had broken in places and was bleached a dull gray by the sun. Della studied it with interest, running her hand along the edge of it. “Ouch!”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Clem. He carried his full pan to where she stood, sloshing water as he walked.

  “Nothing really. I just got a splinter in my finger.”

  He reached for her hand. “Want me to take a look?”

  She pulled it away with a gasp. “No!”

  He lifted his palm toward her and chuckled. “Never mind.”

  She sighed and ducked her head. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good with splinters. Father used to force me to sit while he plucked them out with a needle.”

  He grimaced. “Well, I promise not to do that - ‘less you ask me to, of course.”

  “Which I won’t,�
�� she quickly added.

  He winked at her. “Come on, then - let’s go panning.” Her face warmed as he curled an arm around her shoulders and they wandered to the water’s edge.

  They squatted beside the rushing water, dug their pans into the sand and dirt, then lifted them to rock back and forth, letting the water gradually drain over the edges. “Hmmm … no gold here,” said Clem with a feigned sigh. “Guess I’ll just hafta keep my bank.”

  Della laughed and dug up another measure of sand. “I suppose so. And I’ll just have to, um …” She paused. What did she do? It seemed strange to think of it. In New York she’d helped her mother raise funds for various causes, she had a busy social calendar, was involved in church events and even helped families of war veterans. Since arriving here she’d learned to cook and clean, while waiting for her head to stop spinning from all she’d been through. She realized she’d eventually have to come up with something to occupy her time in Livingston.

  Clem had noticed her hesitation. “Well, ya can keep helpin’ Honey grow her business. ‘Fore you know it, she’ll be runnin’ the whole town.”

  “I suppose - but the business is hers, not mine. I hadn’t thought about it much until now, but I don’t seem to have found anything yet in Livingston that’s just … mine.” She sighed and pushed the pan back into the water.

  Clem shifted his hat back with his fingertips and caught her eye. “Yeah, but ya ain’t been here that long. I know it might seem like a long while, but ya got plenty of time, a lifetime, to figure it all out.”