by Anthology
Somehow she’d found three pins and was trying to restore order to her hair. “I must go. Anyway, we can’t—we couldn’t possibly be together. We’re going our separate ways.” She took off, her hands still working atop her head.
Damn. James blew out a breath, attempting to restore order to his groin.
Just then Mattie whirled and dashed back to him. She grasped his jaw with both hands and kissed him, her passion not an ounce diminished. He tried to slide his arm around her waist, but she pushed against his chest and broke away. She was around the corner and away before he could even say her name.
He took a moment, steadfastly thinking of rain, clouds, trees—anything except the way Mattie had responded to him—and then went the opposite way around the cabin and rejoined the celebration.
Mattie never came within twenty feet of him for the rest of the evening, nor would she even look his way. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, though. Conversations regarding Henry Yesler’s sawmill were of no interest when Mattie Jensen tucked a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear or pressed her fingers to her lips as if remembering their tryst. James couldn’t forget either, but despite the wistfulness of her expression, she made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him. Though the Jensens came to say goodbye, she did not. He’d thought he understood Mattie’s shy and cautious nature but obviously he was much mistaken for he had no idea what was going through her mind. How could she be so passionate one minute and so aloof the next? Was there any hope for the two of them at all?
James extinguished all but one fire and then began to help Tilford clear the food.
“Sir, I will take care of the dishes.”
“While I do what? Drink ale and watch you?”
“You must be exhausted. Why don’t you retire for the night, sir?”
Annoyance buzzed along James’s every nerve. “Why don’t you, Tilford? I can carry a few bowls and plates. And if you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I just might smash my fist into your face.”
Tilford slammed a crock of wapato down on the table and straightened his spine. “I regret to say I can no longer continue in your employ, Mr. Caldwell. For the last week you have refused to let me fulfill my duties or address you in the proper manner. You clean your own boots, wash the dishes, launder your clothes and mine. If I can no longer complete my tasks, I have no right to the wages you pay me.”
“At last, he speaks his mind!” James strode closer. “I happily accept your resignation.”
“Excellent. Because now I can do this.” Tilford lunged forward and punched him square in the jaw.
James stumbled back, but righted himself. Rubbing his knuckles along his jaw, he burst out laughing.
“If I had known a good wallop would improve your mood, I would have hit you days ago,” Tilford declared. “Would you like another?”
Bent double with laughter, James could only shake his head. This was the Tilford he knew and loved. God, how he would miss him. At that sobering thought, he unbent and sucked in a few breaths. “I thought you would never quit.”
Tilford’s bushy black eyebrows furrowed. “You wanted me to quit?”
“Damnation, Tilford! I don’t need a valet; I need a friend.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“Too late.” James hoisted himself up to sit on the tabletop. “You thumped me when I was acting like a dolt. The only people allowed to do so are my brothers or my friends.”
Tilford, hands on hips, paced in front of James, scuffing his boots in the grass. “You have behaved officiously. Why did you not just turn me off?”
“This is America. Land of the free. You have to make your own choices. I choose to leave here. What do you choose to do with your life?”
The other man shook his head. “I still have no choice but to come with you. Miss Stover will never have me now. An unemployed manservant on the northwest frontier? My prospects are not good.”
“You will do just fine.” James held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.” He jumped off the table and marched into the cabin. From beneath his straw pallet he withdrew two pieces of paper he’d hidden. Back outside, he slapped them on the table. “There is your future, Tilford. Decide what you want to do with it.”
Tilford stopped pacing and glanced at the papers. “What have you done, s—?”
As Tilford picked up the documents, James sat on the table again, forearms on his thighs. “The first is the claim to the three hundred and twenty acres we stand on. With the claim office so far away, I haven’t filed yet, so I changed the name to yours. If you decide to stay, you’ll have to swear your intention to become an American citizen, as I would have done.” He grinned at the thought of Tilford, a more proper Englishman than he himself, as an American. “The second is the pension given to all Caldwell retainers when they retire from service. Instead of an annuity, I’m giving you the money all at once, to do with as you please.”
“Why would you do this?” Tilford asked, his voice hoarse.
James looked away, into the dark forest. “I’m leaving; there’s nothing here for me. You and Helene are welcome to come with me, as fellow travelers, of course. But I know you want to stay; don’t deny it. You like it here. You’ve followed me halfway around the world the last four years as I chased idiotic dreams. It’s time you followed your own dream.”
“Perhaps if I hit you again, you’ll realize you need to stay and make a life,” Tilford said quietly.
“I’m hopeless here.” That should seal their friendship for certain—he didn’t admit such things lightly. He’d only ever told Mattie, who did not want to be his friend, or anything more.
That kiss must have been an aberration. Her words and actions spoke a thousand times louder than her kiss. Or at least they should. But bloody hell, he was having a difficult time forgetting how sweet she tasted and how enthralling her touch was.
Tilford hauled himself onto the table beside James, waving away an insect flapping around his face. “I can’t see I’m much better off than you.”
“Of course you are.” With an effort, James cleared Mattie out of his mind. He held up his fingers and ticked them off. “The easiest thing to do would be to harvest the forest as the other settlers are doing. Or you and Helene could set up a school—you’ve always talked about teaching like your father. Or you could put your photography to use. I hear the government is hiring photographers to chart the land.”
“You act as if Miss Stover’s affections are a certainty.”
James rolled his eyes. “Her hand is yours for the asking. Trust me, I know a reticent woman when I see one and Helene Stover is not such a one. Mathilda Anne Porter Jensen, on the other hand, is a prime example of a woman who doesn’t know what she wants. Or maybe she does and it’s just not me.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Er—” Tilford ducked.
James laughed and touched his now bruising jaw. “I’m not going to punch you. Call me Caldwell. I would offer to let you call me James but your brain might seize if you tried. Besides, I am not going to call you Æthelwulf. What were your parents thinking?”
“My father was fascinated by the Saxons’ reign in England.” The fire was dying out but James caught the gravity in Tilford’s blue eyes. “You seemed happy I spoke my mind earlier. May I do so again?”
James glared at him. “You don’t need to ask.”
“Very well.” Tilford looked him in the eye. “I wish you would stay. There are other women here besides Mrs. Jensen and more are arriving every day. Not to mention, I will take it as a personal affront if you declare me your friend and then turn around and leave.”
“I’m fit for nothing, Tilford.” James leapt down and grabbed a stick to stoke the fire. “I might have to return to England. Perhaps my father will take pity on me and find me a position on one of his estates. Anyway, it is late and we need to clear up this mess before a bear discovers all this food.”
Tilford got up and stacked a pile of dishes in his arms. “Are you saying eve
n if Mrs. Jensen were to stay, you would still leave?”
Glad to have his face hidden by the darkness, James lied, “Yes.”
How tempting it would be to stay if Mattie were to remain in Seattle… She was adamant about leaving, though, and equally adamant about James not going with her. The sooner he could put hundreds of miles between himself and this godforsaken place, the sooner he could forgot Mattie Jensen and the passion and fire lurking beneath her diffident demeanor.
Chapter 5
Mattie held herself together on the hike home from the party, something she probably wouldn’t have been able to do if she’d had to speak to James Caldwell again. He had her so confused she didn’t know whether to kiss him senseless or run as far away as she could. Keeping her distance seemed the safest bet, so she’d not gone near him for the rest of the evening. The way his gaze followed her everywhere was near enough to a caress, though, that she’d been just as inflamed as she would have been if she’d been by his side the whole time.
Once back at the Jensens’ cabin, she dressed for bed and crawled beneath the blanket, curling herself into a ball to keep from shaking. Thank God James was leaving in a few days. He was handsome, humorous, intelligent despite what he thought of himself, and his kisses made her wish she could love again. In short, he was a temptation she was finding difficult to resist.
And why should you have to?
For a moment she thought Helene might have spoken, but then her friend’s soft snores reached Mattie’s ears.
James Caldwell will be gone in less than a week. Why shouldn’t you indulge in some “fun” with him?
Goodness, her conscience wasn’t as strait-laced as she’d always believed. She would pay it no heed, however. James might have made her feel wanton, but that didn’t mean she was.
Still, his touch is magical. Remember how his large hand slid over your breast? Imagine that hand elsewhere…
No. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured a white, empty room. Mr. Caldwell—no more James for her—was dangerous. And fortunately for her, there was no need to ever see him again.
Two days later Mattie was kneading dough when Helene burst into the Jensens’ kitchen through the back door.
“I’ve had a note from Mr. Tilford!”
Behind her, Mattie could hear the paper snapping as Helene waved it about. She mustered a smile and turned around. “What does it say?”
“He would like us to come to tea.”
“Tea? How very… English.”
Helene nodded. Placing the note between her lips, she reached up to rearrange her wind-blown hair. Her pale blue eyes sparkled, even on this sunless day. Of course she was ecstatic. She was in love for the first time and had no idea how hurtful love could be. A nasty frisson of jealousy shot up Mattie’s spine. Oh, to be so naïve. She turned back to her dough, pounding the fleshy lump, driving out her ugly thoughts. “Does he say why he’s inviting you to tea?”
“He’s not inviting me, he has invited us. You and I. Magnus says we can go. In fact, he insisted. Hmm. Maybe he knows something I don’t.”
The anticipation in her friend’s voice annoyed Mattie. “I have so much to do here. You’d best go alone.”
“You know Magnus won’t allow that,” Helene replied, her voice quiet. “Pl—”
“I’ll go!” Mattie spun around, pasting a smile on her face. She did not want Helene to have to beg. They were friends; friends had to be there for each other. Even when one was ready to soar to the moon and the other wanted to crawl under a rock.
Helene hugged her. “Thank you. When you’ve finished with the dough, will you please fix my hair?”
An hour later, with Bjorn barking and running circles around them, they headed up the hill under relentlessly grey skies. At least it wasn’t raining, because Helene looked downright fetching. She had changed into her pink muslin gown and Mattie had braided one layer of her blonde hair into a coronet, leaving the rest to fall straight down her back. Despite much prodding from her friend, Mattie had refused to change. With its high neckline and long sleeves, her grey cotton dress covered every inch of her. Plus, she’d pulled her hair back as tight as possible and pinned every last strand in place. If she had to see James Caldwell again, she wanted him to know she was just as unavailable to him as she was to every other man on this earth.
Ten layers of clothing never stopped a man from wanting, nor a woman from feeling. He madly pulled those pins out once; he could do so again.
Mattie ground her teeth, wiping out that delicious image. Clearly her vocal conscience didn’t agree with her. For once, she thanked God she was shy. Never in a thousand years would she make such an intimate proposal to a man. She’d always let Daniel come to her. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed their lovemaking; she had. She’d just never been forward about it.
“Your thoughts must be running deep,” Helene said.
“Oh, yes.” She blinked, realizing they had entered the woods. Bjorn blazed the trail for them, scaring off winged and furred creatures alike. They would soon reach the cabin. Before they did so, there was a subject she must broach with Helene. “Mr. Caldwell is leaving in two days. Mr. Tilford is surely going with him. Did you ever think this tea might be…” Oh goodness, that didn’t sound very subtle or comforting. Must she always bumble her words?
“This might be goodbye?” Helene laughed and put her arm around Mattie’s shoulders. “Dearest Mattie, I love that you speak with such candor. I know you mean only for me to think of all possibilities, but don’t worry, I have full confidence in Mr. Tilford.”
“What does that mean?” She had confidence in James’s ability to protect her and make her laugh, but confidence in his feelings? No.
“It means if he goes with Mr. Caldwell, I am certain he will ask me to go with him as his wife. And it means if he decides to stay, we’ll make our life together here. Either way I will be Mrs. Tilford and I will be happy indeed.” Helene’s smile turned into a full-blown beam.
Mattie gasped and reached for her friend’s hand. “You think he means to propose today?”
Helene hiked her dress up and stepped over a large tree root. “Yes, I hope so. I think he has been trying to figure out which course to take. He is vexed by Mr. Caldwell’s decision to leave. I think he feels he must go with Mr. Caldwell and not because he is Mr. Caldwell’s servant but because… Well, they seem more like friends than anything else. But Mr. Tilford would never say as much.”
“It’s true they don’t seem like master and servant—Mr. Caldwell works just as hard as Mr. Tilford.” Mattie flushed with shame, thinking of how she had blasted James upon their first meeting. Please let him be off hunting or fishing today.
Helene stopped before they got to the edge of the woods. Bjorn wandered over to a bush. Through the long-trunked firs they could see the cabin, but neither of its occupants. Lips trembling, she squeezed Mattie’s hand. “Please don’t think I want to leave you. I worry about you and—”
“Don’t.” Mattie pulled her friend into her arms. “You can’t cry now—what will Mr. Tilford think? I will be just fine.”
Helene drew back, nodding her head as if in agreement, but her wet eyes still showed uncertainty. “Of course you will. You’re a strong woman. I just want you to start living again.”
“I have been living.”
“Then I want you to start loving again.” Helene tilted her head in the direction of the cabin. “It’s not so awful here, is it?”
“Life seems to get easier every day with new people arriving and plans for the city coming along.” And if she had someone to share that life with? Someone to laugh and love with, how good would it be then? No. Mattie gripped her friend’s upper arms and gave her a little shake, though she meant it more for herself. “But enough. Today is about you, not me. Now dry your eyes and let’s go see what Mr. Tilford has to say—or ask.”
That made Helene smile. She composed herself and they stepped out into the clearing. Tilford waited just outside the door.
The cabin was small. One section had been walled off to form a bedroom, but the rest of the space was open. Very open, for there was hardly any furniture at all. Just a table, covered with a plain white cloth, plus two stools and a bench. A wood stove sitting in the corner heated the room. It was cozy. Mattie could see a newly married couple living here. Helene and Tilford, of course, not her and—
She cut off that thought and instead breathed a sigh of relief at the obvious absence of Mr. Caldwell. “This is quite lovely, Mr. Tilford. Thank you for having us.”
“Good afternoon.”
She closed her eyes as James’s sinful voice lifted the hairs on her neck. Two more days. Two more days and then he would be gone. Which was good because it didn’t look as if she was getting out of Seattle any time soon. She opened her eyes and stared at the stove, attempting to ignore him. But though she’d barely glanced his way, the image of him—dark green coat, black neckcloth, black trousers, glossy boots with no bite marks—stamped itself in her mind. Today he looked every inch the British aristocrat. Except for that bruise just beneath his left cheekbone. Where had it come from?
Unfortunately, he had also brought an awkwardness into the room that hadn’t been there before. Tilford and Helene, standing side by side, looked from her to James and back to her so rapidly Mattie thought their eyeballs must ache. Neither of them spoke.
“Old Bjorn came to find me. Tilford, do dogs come to tea in America?” James came further into the room, beside Mattie, a bundle of black fur cavorting about his finely shaped legs.
Tilford raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Bjorn is one of the best-behaved dogs I know.”
And just like that, Bjorn snuck behind Tilford and Helene and wolfed down a jam tart from the spread on the table.
Helene gasped, both men burst out laughing, and Mattie couldn’t help but join in. She called Bjorn over, but failed miserably at reprimanding him, her harsh words meaningless when cloaked in laughter. Grateful he’d broken the tension, she ended up scratching his head in just the spot he liked.