by Linda Jones
"Tell her she's beautiful right now.” Cyrus whispered.
"Oh, yeah.” Calvin's head snapped up to look at Roxanne again. “You look good now, too. You're as fine as frog's hair,” he added enthusiastically. “I imagine you look right nice all the time."
Cyrus closed his eyes. Right nice? Fine as frog's hair? “Tell her she has eyes like sapphires and skin like pearls,” he whispered. “Tell her she has hair like the darkest moonless night, and a laugh that makes angels sing and fairies dance."
Calvin screwed up his nose before lifting his head to Roxanne again. “You've got right nice eyes, too."
"Tell her you get tongue-tied when you speak to a pretty girl,” Cyrus suggested.
"You get...” Calvin began, “I mean, I get tongue-tied when I talk to a purty gal."
"You are such a moron,” Cyrus seethed.
"You are such...” Calvin managed to stop himself before he went further. “I'm a moron,” he finished.
"Goodnight, Calvin,” Roxanne said, and dammit, Cyrus could hear the laughter in her voice, the joy.
He lifted a hand and crooked a finger to call Calvin closer. “Tell her to give you a moment to collect your thoughts."
Calvin gave Roxanne a brilliant smile that would surely make any woman do as he asked. “Don't run off on me just yet. Give me a minute to gather my thoughts and I'll be right back."
A very small basket would be sufficient to gather all of Calvin's thoughts, of that Cyrus was certain.
When Calvin stood hidden beneath the balcony with him, Cyrus took the white hat and jammed it on his own head. “Hand over the coat,” he ordered softly, taking off his own jacket and dropping it to the ground, gesturing impatiently when it appeared Calvin didn't understand.
Calvin shrugged off the duster and handed it over, and Cyrus slipped it on, turning up the collar to hide the lower portion of his face. His heart beat too hard, his mouth went dry. Dammit his hands were trembling. Could he carry off the hillbilly accent? Would Roxanne know the minute he opened his mouth that he was not Calvin Newberry?
But when he stepped into the moonlight all his fears melted away. This was a night to end all nights, the kind of night good dreams were made of. He'd waltzed with Roxanne, he'd seen her smile, and now he was finally going to get the chance to tell her exactly how he felt.
* * * *
Roxanne smiled as Calvin stepped from beneath the balcony. She waited for him to lift his head and smile at her again, but he didn't. He kept his head down, so all she could see was the top of his white hat. Why was he wearing it now? He had such a lovely head of hair, such a lovely face. It was a shame to hide them.
She shouldn't be standing here, in her nightdress and wrapper, with her hair down and her feet bare. This was a most improper situation. But darn it, she'd been proper for so long....
"I have a hard time speaking my mind when I'm looking at you.” Calvin's Tennessee accent had softened, was not quite as harsh as before. Perhaps he'd relaxed a little since he hid under his hat.
"I can't see why.” She grasped the railing and leaned over slightly. A burst of wind caught the tail of her silver-gray silk dressing gown and made it swing around her legs. The same breeze ruffled her loosened hair.
"You're so beautiful,” he whispered. “Much too beautiful and fine and good for the likes of me."
"That's just sweet talk,” she said, dismissing his claim.
There was a short pause, and then a soft, countrified voice drifted to her. “It's the truth. Never in my life have I seen another woman to compare with you, Roxanne Robinette. You have eyes like sapphires and skin like pearls. Tonight, when we were dancing, I wanted so badly to bury my nose in your hair and just stay there, to forget that we were not alone. I didn't dare."
"It's rather bold of you to say so,” she said, flattered and shocked and confused. While they'd danced, Calvin had looked as if he had nothing more on his mind than the music and the calculated movements of his big feet. But now ... right now he told her differently.
"Tonight I will be bold,” he said. “Tomorrow ... tomorrow I'll be cautious and polite again, and I'll hide behind propriety and what I know is right. Tonight I will say what I think and feel and want."
Roxanne's heart flipped in her chest. She didn't want romance, she didn't want love, but maybe for tonight she could pretend that she did. “What do you think and feel and want?"
There was a short pause, and Calvin began to pace beneath her. She could see him well enough, by the light of the full moon, and yet she couldn't see him at all. His long duster and white hat were almost bright in the moonlight, but he kept his head down.
"I think you are the perfect woman. Perfect not just because you're beautiful, but because behind the sapphire eyes and beneath the pearl-like skin there beats a fine, good heart and there rests a wondrously beautiful soul."
She ignored the fact that her heart skipped a beat. This was nothing but romantic nonsense from a man who'd obviously had too much to drink. “You don't know me well enough to say such things. You certainly don't know me well enough to know my soul."
"Trust me,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear the words. “I do. May I continue?"
She should say no and send Calvin away. This encounter was improper, scandalous, and wrong. But somehow it felt very, very right. “Yes."
"I feel,” he said. “I feel like my heart has been kicked and stomped on, battered and broken, and you know what? I don't mind at all. There was a time in my life when I didn't think I'd ever feel anything again. Not even pain. Certainly not affection. But not feeling anything at all is too much like death. Pain is better than being numb,” he whispered. “I was numb for too long."
"So was I,” she whispered, and tears sprang to her eyes. Somehow this man knew her. He knew her heart, her soul, her fears. Pain is better than being numb. Was that true?
"Calvin,” she called, leaning over the wrought iron railing. “Why won't you look at me as you say these things?"
"I can't,” he whispered.
"Are you really that shy?"
"I am right bashful at times,” he conceded, his Tennessee accent suddenly more pronounced. “But I must confess that this is different."
"How is this different?"
There was a long moment of silence, but she waited patiently for him to answer.
"If I tell you what I think and feel and want, and you laugh to my face, I couldn't bear it. I'd die inside again and then ... maybe there would only be more numbness, and maybe it wouldn't go away this time, not ever."
"I would never hurt you or anyone else that way,” she promised.
"Not deliberately,” he answered. “I know that. But what if I.... “his voice faltered, and as she watched him pace he stumbled over a root of the oak tree, jumped slightly as he regained his balance.
Roxanne couldn't help but smile. Calvin was so clumsy. “What if ... what?"
"What if I fall in love with you? What if I come to love you with all my heart, and you don't return that love? That would hurt worst of all, Roxanne."
She knew he spoke the truth, and yet she couldn't promise love to a man she barely knew. She couldn't promise love to anyone at all. Like Calvin, she was afraid of being hurt again, of losing again. He was right; the numbness was awful.
"You said you'd tell me what you think and feel and want. You've told me what you think of me, and what you feel.” She swallowed hard. The darkness and the fact that Calvin continued to hide his face so far below made her as bold as he. “What do you want?” she whispered, afraid for this to end too soon.
He came to a standstill directly beneath her. “Don't you know, Roxanne?” he whispered.
She did know, and her heart fluttered and her breasts tightened. Deep inside, a faint but unmistakable tremor surprised her. Physical desire, feelings she'd thought long dead, rushed through her. The knuckles of her hands turned white as she gripped the railing tight.
"I want you,” he whispered, and then he
stepped beneath the balcony and out of sight.
A moment later he appeared again, and this time he lifted his head. She searched his face for signs of the tenderness and desire she'd heard in his voice, but all she saw was moonlit composed perfection. How could he look so calm, when with a few words he'd just turned her world upside down?
There was no smile this time, as he said “Goodnight, Roxanne,” and walked away.
She slowly sank to the floor of the balcony and watched him walk away. At the edge of the lawn he stopped, looked up and down the street, and then started walking at a brisk pace.
She sighed. Poor Calvin, he was obviously more affected by his romantic confession than he'd appeared to be; if he was going back to the boarding house he was heading in the wrong direction.
Cyrus waited patiently and quietly beneath the balcony. He heard Roxanne breathing, heard her moving above his head. The ground was hard, the air was cool, but here he would sit until she went to bed. It didn't really matter how uncomfortable he was or how long he had to wait; he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.
Finally he had told Roxanne how he felt, what he wanted. God, he was a coward, to hide behind Calvin's pretty face to reveal his obsession. To pretend to be someone else as he told her all his secrets and fears. It had been so easy. Too easy.
And she'd loved it, hadn't she? He'd heard the softening of her voice, the little sighs, the hope in her simple questions. What do you want? She might say she didn't want love and happiness, but she lied.
He leaned against the wall of the house and closed his eyes. She wanted love and happiness, and by God he would give it to her. If giving Roxanne what she wanted meant he had to tie up everything he felt and desired in the pretty package called Calvin Newberry, that's exactly what he'd do.
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Chapter Six
By the light of day, last night's so-called inspiration seemed utterly ridiculous. Cyrus didn't know whether he should blame the whiskey, the waltz, Mary Alice's innocent kiss, or Calvin. He decided to absolve them all of responsibility and blame himself, instead.
Apparently Calvin placed blame at his feet as well.
"Sheriff,” the young man said as he paced before Cyrus's desk. “I don't mean no disrespect, and I know you musta had your reasons for what went on last night, but don't you think,” the big blond man came to a standstill directly before a seated Cyrus and placed his hands on his hips in a pose that screamed reproach, “that maybe you went jest a touch too far?"
Cyrus ignored the knowledge that this dim boy was right and he was wrong. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked calmly and with just a hint of sarcasm.
Calvin narrowed one eye. “All that talk about love and hearts and souls and such.” He appeared to have a real distaste for the subject, screwing up his nose and mouth until he was anything but beautiful. “Eyes like sapphires and all that foolishness about her hair. Shoot, she'll most likely be expecting a proposal of marriage next time we meet, and I ain't made up my mind if that's what I want to do or not."
"What do you mean you ain't made up your mind?” Cyrus asked angrily. “You said you were looking for a wife, and we agreed that Roxanne would suit you perfectly."
"No,” Calvin said sternly, surprising Cyrus. “You said that she suited me perfectly. I met a lot of sweet and purty women last night, and I reckon any one of them would make a fair wife. Roxanne is purty, that's a fact, but then so are Jane and Rose and Hannah. Why, I'd have myself a hard time picking which one was the purtiest."
Cyrus stood slowly. How could this moron even suggest that those other women could hold a candle to Roxanne? He wasn't about to let this dimwit ruin his carefully laid plans.
"You'd be a fool to marry any other woman in town when Roxanne is available and willing,” he seethed.
"Know what I think?” Calvin placed two beefy hands on the desk and leaned forward almost threateningly, showing more spine than Cyrus had seen from the boy thus far. He couldn't be sorry. The man Roxanne married had to be capable of taking care of her, of standing up to anyone and anything when the situation called for it. “Sheriff, I think you just ought to ask Roxanne to marry you and leave me out of it."
The suggestion was so unexpected, so far-fetched, Cyrus felt like the younger man had kicked him in the chest. “That's ridiculous,” he muttered.
"Don't sound ridiculous to me.” Calvin's mood changed quickly and the boy flashed a winning smile. “I think you're right sweet on her."
Cyrus relaxed and resumed his seat. “Now, that is ridiculous,” he said calmly. “Maybe I went too far in my matchmaking efforts,” he conceded. “I had too much to drink last night and I got carried away. Just seems to me that you and Roxanne would make a good match. That's all. I figured a little sweet talk would get you started."
"A little sweet talk?” Calvin grinned widely. “If what I heard last night is your idea of a little sweet talk I pity the poor woman you fall in love with."
Cyrus ignored the good-hearted censure. “I was hasty,” he admitted. “Last night I pushed too far too fast, and I said some things I shouldn't have. You need to get to know Roxanne better before making any important decisions. I understand that."
Calvin nodded once.
Yes, he'd moved too fast. Cyrus was willing to admit to that. But the admission didn't mean this was over. Not by a long shot. “There's a church picnic tomorrow, and I imagine Roxanne will be there. How about you make a point to attend, and you and Roxanne can sit together and get better acquainted."
The young man very seriously considered the proposition for a moment, then nodded his head once. “All right, but you come with me, all right? At least for a while, in case I can't think of nothing to say. You can jump in and do some of that fancy talking of yours. Not that sweet talk or anything,” Calvin added hastily. “Just ... talk."
Cyrus sighed. “You need a nursemaid to court a woman?"
"Just a little help gettin’ started, that's all,” Calvin said sheepishly. “Roxanne does make me a mite nervous. Shootfire, of course she makes me nervous. She's purty and smart.” Calvin lifted innocent, pleading blue eyes. “You'll be there, won'tcha Sheriff?"
Cyrus almost contained a despairing sigh. He'd never intended to get in this deep, to become this involved. It was hard enough to watch Roxanne fall in love from a distance. To be right there with her and Calvin while his plan fell into place.... It was almost too much.
"All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I'll stick with you for a while, but if it looks like you're doing all right on your own I'll disappear."
Calvin nodded at this agreeable idea. “Fine. Just don't ask her to marry me over vittles. Deal?"
Cyrus couldn't help but smile. “Deal."
Roxanne walked toward downtown with a languid, easy smile on her face. She didn't want to ponder exactly where the smile came from, but it felt good, natural, even though she hadn't smiled much at all in the past few years.
Perhaps she didn't want to ponder where the smile came from, but she knew too well. Calvin Newberry and his honeyed whisper hadn't been out of her mind since he'd walked away last night. She'd tossed restlessly in her bed as she thought about those adoring words. She'd dreamed of them, woke remembering them.
It had been so long since she'd really felt like a woman; loved and desired, admired and adored. Calvin, with his whispered confessions, had made her feel all that and more. For the first time in a long, long while, Roxanne harbored a twinkling of hope that perhaps she could find love and happiness again.
Everything he'd said had been wonderful, memorable and worth cherishing in her heart. But one statement stayed with her more than the rest. Pain is better than being numb. It was as if he knew that she'd been paralyzed for too long, as if he only had to look at her to understand that she was afraid of the hurt that might come if she dared to love again.
Waking up, allowing herself to hope again, was the bravest thing she'd done in years.
On Saturday the
business section of Paris became a busy place. Saturday was usually a busy day for Roxanne. She baked bread, and did laundry and the heavy cleaning that was such a chore for her aunt. Ada refused to employ live-in help, judging it a luxury, and the girls she hired to come in and clean once a week were unable to keep up with everything that needed to be done. Roxanne always had chores to do on Saturday.
But today she felt much too restless to stay at home. She needed to walk off some of this unusual energy, to breathe fresh air and feel the April sun on her face. Thanks to Calvin, she thought as she lifted her face and closed her eyes.
Without conscious thought, she found herself standing before the dressmaker's shop. People walked by, saying hello and waving, if their arms weren't full of purchases. Roxanne smiled and waved absently, but her eyes were on the door of the dress shop. She waited a moment before stepping forward and opening the door, looking in on two shoppers and a very busy Fannie Rowland.
Roxanne held her breath. What was she doing here? She glanced down at the plain brown dress she wore and expelled a long, solemn sigh. She'd loved Louis with all her heart, and for so many years she'd known that they would spend their lives together. Such plans they'd had, for children that would never be, for a simple life of hard days and quiet evenings in their own part of the world. It wasn't much to ask, was it? Roots, family, her own corner of the world. She'd grieved for that lost life as much as she had for Louis, she decided, she'd mourned for dreams that would never be fulfilled, babies that would never be born.
Louis was gone. Was she a selfish fool to crave other dreams? Another life?
She took a deep breath to calm and fortify herself, as she lifted her head and closed the door behind her.
He hated Saturdays. Every farmer and rancher from miles around came to Paris to shop and visit, and there wasn't a Saturday to pass that he didn't end up throwing someone in jail. There were fights in the streets and in the saloons, arguments in the general store and the saddlery that occasionally got out of hand. Sheriff Bergeron was expected to be there to smooth all these disagreements over before there was bloodshed.