River to Cross, A

by Yvonne Harris

  His stomach knotted. That was the last thing he wanted to hear.

  “Too bad you and Carl never met. I think you two would have gotten on well.”

  Not likely. They were both Cavalry. They would’ve fought over her like two stallions. Truth was, if he’d known her before she married Evans, he would have done everything he could to steal her from him. And one way or another, he would have.

  He slid her another glance and smiled to himself.

  He was still going to.

  He threaded their buggy in ahead of two others stopped in front of the Grand Hotel. The hotel took up nearly the whole block, rising four stories, the tallest building in El Paso. As soon as they stopped, an attendant stepped up, opened Elizabeth’s door, and helped her down to the sidewalk.

  Jake exited his side, and another attendant drove the buggy off to the Grand’s own livery for their customers. Jake walked around to meet Elizabeth.

  The Grand was the most luxurious hotel this side of San Antonio. He’d been here several times, the last time with Lloyd Madison the evening before they left to meet Ricardo Romero in Mexico. It had quietly elegant dining rooms, a dance floor, and a broad open promenade for walking along the riverside.

  Following her into the hotel, Jake studied the dark-haired lady in lavender linen and high-heeled sandals rustling ahead of him. She’d caught her dark hair into thick braids coiled over each ear. Beautiful. He liked her hair like that.

  Back straight, skirt swinging, Elizabeth ascended the carpeted stairway to the restaurant deck.

  Beautiful little back.

  Beautiful little everything.

  Upstairs, he noticed other men turn their heads, sneaking glances at her as the steward escorted them to their table. In one way, that pleased him. In another, it did not.

  He cupped her elbow possessively and guided her across the dining room. “Watch your step—the floor’s uneven,” he said. It wasn’t. It was dead level.

  Models of sailing ships hung on the walls. Their table was in a private corner with a heavy-looking brass porthole overlooking the Rio Grande. A blood-red sunset lit up the sky. Even the river looked rosy.

  Elizabeth turned from the window back to Jake and the low hum of voices around them. “This is delightful, as nice as any place in Washington,” she said. “This town is growing so fast. I can hardly wait to get started with the paper.”

  She sounded confident, positive, a woman who knew what she wanted. Or didn’t want. And at the moment, he suspected, what she didn’t want was him. Eyes narrowed, Jake leaned back in his chair. She was a challenge, all right.

  For his twelfth birthday, his stepfather had given him a horse of his own, a wild young filly no one could get near. She’d tossed her head and bucked him off every time he got in the saddle. Bruised and sore, his wrist in a cast—she’d also kicked him—he kept climbing onto her back. It took him a month of chasing and yelling at her, but one day she’d finally let him sit on her.

  Jake studied the pretty dark-haired woman across the table and made small, damp rings on the tablecloth with his water glass. His mind turned, making comparisons. Elizabeth was a little like that filly—arching her neck and rolling her eyes and running away from him.

  Easy girl. Easy now. Mentally he picked up a rope and halter and started after her.

  A minute later, he set his glass down and looked over. “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head. “Lloyd was my only brother. How about you?”

  He eased his breath out. About time she showed some interest in him. “No brothers or sisters. My stepfather had a small herd of milk cows and sold to the townspeople.”

  Masculine Texas charm oozed from every pore, smooth as banana cream. No pressure on the lady, but no escape, either. Elizabeth set the topic of conversation, and Jake picked up on it. Just knowing what he was doing and why gave him an advantage he didn’t hesitate to use.

  He entertained her, kept her amused, drawling one funny little tale after another.

  When he was five years old, he told her, he dropped caterpillars down a neighbor girl’s pinafore, and his mother spanked him. At nine, he threw eggs at the preacher’s dog when it growled at him, and his mother spanked him again.

  As a boy growing up, he was on the small side. Because he read better than even the older boys, they singled him out to pick on. He started carrying a garter snake in his pocket. At the first sign of trouble from one of the older boys, he yanked his snake out and dangled it in the bully’s face. The yellow-striped snake, whipping back and forth in the air, had its mouth wide open and snapping—all worked up from being carried around in Jake’s pocket all day. The bigger boys left Jake and his crawly friend alone.

  Elizabeth broke out laughing and leaned forward. A delightful laugh, soft and throaty. She should do that more often. Relieved, he watched her unwind, realizing she was also drawing him out. The back of his neck warmed. He hadn’t revealed himself like this to a woman in years.

  “Why did you join the Army?” she asked.

  He wondered when she’d get around to that. “I joined mainly to get away from home. When I was fifteen I told my stepfather I wanted to go to college. He threw me up against the house, a regular occurrence with him. Said I didn’t need more education to milk cows. I ran away that night and joined the Army the next day.”

  What Jake didn’t tell her was what followed a few weeks later. During barracks inspection one day, they found a copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace hidden beneath his shirts. The sergeant confiscated the book.

  A week later, they hit him with a bunch of tests. A month after that, they called him in to ask him if he would like to go to Officers’ Training School.

  Jake said he would, glad for the opportunity.

  It was hard. He was younger than everyone else at the school but had been warned to keep quiet about it. The instructors were tough and so were the courses. He studied far into the night. When he graduated, he’d lost twenty pounds and was in the worst physical shape of his life. But it was the best thing he ever did for his Army career. Officer training taught him things about responsibility for others and leadership, about himself as a man that changed him forever.

  “You could have been out long ago,” Elizabeth said. “Why did you stay in?”

  He composed his thoughts before he answered. The truth was that, for him, the Army was fun. And somewhere along the line, he discovered how much he loved his country. When parade drums rolled and the flag went by, he still got chills. He gazed across the table at Elizabeth and hid a smile.

  Tell her that, and she’ll run for the nearest door.

  Instead, he hung his arm casually across the chair beside him and gave her a safe answer. “Staying in the Army keeps me out of the dairy business.”

  The waiter came and took their order from a French menu—a grilled salmon for him, a shrimp Newburg for her.

  “And Chardonnay for madame,” he finished in French, smiling. “I’ll pass on the wine, merci.”

  She glanced up. “You speak French?”

  “No more than necessary. The Army sent me to school.”

  Elizabeth recited to herself all the good, sound reasons for avoiding men like Jake. While it wasn’t the Army, Rangers were quasi-military, and the work just as dangerous.

  In spite of that, Captain Jake Nelson was fun to be with. He could always make her laugh, even in Mexico when she was under great stress.

  And then the roses today. “Boo-ful, like you,” he’d said. Her cheeks heated just thinking about it. She hugged the words in her mind and looked down at her wine. It had been a long time since any man told her she was beautiful. A man didn’t do that unless he was interested. She took a long sip of her wine and considered the possibility that for the first time in a long time, she was interested. But a Ranger officer?

  She sighed.

  Unfortunately, yes.

  She closed both hands around her glass, tightly. A shudder chased through her. Thi
s gray-eyed, slow-talking man did crazy things to her insides. He was making her question everything she’d told herself about men the last three years.

  This must not happen.

  He was too much like Carl.

  She finished her wine in silence and gazed at Jake’s face. He had a square jaw with a deeply cleft chin. She could almost imagine her fingernail tracing the tiny trench, probing it.

  Heat slid down her neck. What is wrong with me?

  She blinked across at the man with the cute chin and cleared her throat.

  Smiling, she set her glass down. “I went to the hospital today to see a nurse friend, and on the way I ran into one of our writers at the paper. I’d met him two years before but didn’t recognize him. Fortunately, his memory was better than mine, and he stopped me to say hello. He’s doing a piece on military food and taking a survey out at the fort of the foods soldiers like best.”

  Jake broke off a piece of roll and buttered it.

  She glanced at the man in the tan corduroy jacket. He had the expression of a man who knew where he was going.

  Despite the nice manners, he looked tough. She couldn’t quite tell why, but perhaps it was the way he wore his hair, a little long, curling at the back of his neck.

  Her gaze slipped to the fingers buttering the roll. His fingers were rather graceful for a man. Golden blond hairs curled from the shirt cuffs under the jacket and dusted the backs of his hands. His nails, she noted, were cut short, dull and natural looking. She hated shiny fingernails on men.

  “I told him I’d talk to you about military food. It’ll be good publicity for the fort. He’s already interviewed two Fort Bliss cooks,” she said.

  “Glad to help. What do you need from me?”

  “A few of your favorites. What do Rangers like to eat?”

  “Depends on what they’re doing. Riding for hours is physically draining. If they have to cook outside, our cooks use a lot of sausage, bacon, chops—things that cook fast and are filling. Rice, potatoes, and always end the meal with something sweet.”

  “Sounds like they’re treated pretty well.”

  “Ranging and soldiering are hard work, and also lonely.”

  “And dangerous,” she added.

  “Sometimes. It’s pretty boring a lot of the time. Which is why food is important. Cooks know that. The Army and the Rangers are family to their men, and family takes care of its own.”

  She busied herself with her shrimp, then looked up, her fork poised. “I don’t know as I believe George—the writer doing the story—but he said a cook at the fort told him hungry Rangers will eat anything. Cooked or raw. Alive or dead.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He said Rangers even eat snakes.”

  Jake’s bite of roll went down the wrong way and he started to cough. He scooped up his glass of water to wash it down, his mind racing, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t turn the ladylike Elizabeth’s stomach, something not exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie, either.

  “It’s the civilized habits we have to get over. When a man is starving to death, he will eat anything,” he said.

  He’d taught every one of his Rangers how to stay alive in Texas. On one miserable desert operation, they’d eaten everything they had with them and gone three days with only what they could find to eat—roots and berries. On the third morning, light-headed with hunger, he’d seized the tail of a six-foot rattlesnake and yanked it from under a log. Five half-starved young men with knives fell on it. Twenty minutes later, that snake was skinned and sizzling over a cook fire.

  He covered his mouth, struggling to keep a straight face, and looked across at Elizabeth.

  Laughing, Elizabeth said, “So you do eat snakes!” The skin wrinkled on the bridge of her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

  Jake nodded, wiped at his eyes. “Some people think it tastes a lot like chicken.”

  “Does it?”

  He shook his head. “Tastes like snake to me.”

  With a smile, she leaned back in her chair and asked, “Can I quote you on that?”

  Over dessert, he listened to her with only one ear. The other listened to the music coming from the bar in the other room—guitars, piano, flute, the soft brush of drums, and the breathy groan of a new horn called a sax-o-phone. For two more songs he debated about asking her to dance.

  A picture flashed in his head of her, warm and resting in his arms at the Gypsy camp. The image was too powerful. He rose to his feet. Ignoring her startled expression, he pulled her out of her chair.

  “Let’s dance.”

  “I haven’t danced in years,” she said.

  Gripping her hand, he led her onto the dance floor.

  The pianist lowered his hands over the keyboard, and the music started again. Hand around her waist, Jake swung her against him in time with the music. He glided her backward, acutely aware of the woman in his arms.

  They made a handsome couple, he thought, as they danced by a wall mirror. He was struck by how pretty she was with her head tipped back looking up at him. He couldn’t stop smiling.

  When the song ended, they stood on the dance floor with the other couples, clapping politely. The subtle fragrance she wore wafted around him. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the essence of her. It distracted him. She distracted him with that intriguing blend of brains and beauty.

  Drums rolled and the band began to play a sentimental old song. He slid his arm around her waist again and pulled her against him. This time she rested her cheek against his chest. He wasn’t imagining it. With each dance she was melting a little more into him.

  Then came the guilt. He felt as if he was taking advantage of her, and he didn’t mean to. When the music stopped, he led her toward the stairway that led down to the promenade. “Let’s go outside,” he said.

  A breeze fluttered the hem of Elizabeth’s dress as they strolled together along the promenade. Jake’s hand felt warm and solid, his fingers curved around hers. She glanced over at him. It had been so long since she’d truly enjoyed being with a man. In spite of what he did for a living, she liked this man.

  The only ones on the promenade, they walked to the far end and leaned on the railing, gazing out over the river. Light from the restaurant spilled onto the water. Luminous and reflective, the river’s mirrored surface lapped against the boardwalk.

  Neither spoke, listening to the quiet shushing of water around them. Music floated out from the bar.

  Jake turned her hand over in both of his. “Glad you came?”

  “Very.” The corners of her mouth curved.

  His hand slipped to her waist, turned her toward him. He crooked her chin up and made her look at him.

  When his gaze slipped to her mouth, she knew with absolute certainty she was about to be kissed.

  Jake drew her up onto her toes. She clutched his shoulders in surprise at finding herself in his arms this way. Thoughts tumbled in her head. One part of her wanted to run away. Another part rooted her to the boardwalk. Don’t be ridiculous, she thought, as his face lowered. One kiss wouldn’t matter. In fact, she’d liked the other. . . .

  A warm mouth covered hers. Even as she told herself not to, she closed her eyes. For just an instant, Carl’s face blurred across her mind, then faded, obliterated by this man’s lips.

  Cradling the back of her head, he made a thick, pleased sound in his throat. He had a wonderful mouth, taking and giving at the same time, totally sure of himself. At that moment she felt the first small splinter in the hard shell she’d built around her emotions. Time slowed to a crawl as his lips moved over hers.

  When he raised his face, she rested her forehead against his necktie. This man can kiss.

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss you tonight,” he said.

  Twice she swallowed before she trusted herself to speak. “When did you mean to kiss me?”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to give you time to get used to me. I didn’t want to rush you, but I guess I did.”
>
  His lips found hers again. Never breaking the kiss, he took a step backward into the shadows. This time there was a dreamy closeness to their kiss. He was sweet and affectionate, things she’d never suspected he could be. With a small, quiet moan, she closed her eyes and kissed him back.

  When he lifted his mouth and looked down at her, his eyes were full of questions.

  “Who are you afraid of—yourself or me?” he asked.

  “Myself, I guess. You see, I don’t know how to deal with you.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “There must be some kind of protocol for this. It’s just not civilized to tell you I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. That’s a first for me.”

  “Uncivilized, but honest.”

  She caught a quick white smile in the dark as he ran the ball of his thumb over her lower lip. “I’m attracted to you, Elizabeth Evans, and I think it’s mutual—something neither of us expected. Or wanted. Especially you. So, say yes to tomorrow and let’s start to learn about each other.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Suppose I pick you up for breakfast, and then we’ll go to . . . I don’t know, how about the train station?”

  Her eyebrows flew up. “The train station?”

  “Someplace in broad daylight with people around. Maybe then you’ll relax with me. Maybe I’ll even relax with you.” Though he said it casually, his Texas drawl came out thicker than usual, revealing that he was more bothered than he let on.

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You see, I don’t know how to deal with you, either.”

  That unexpected admission surprised her. For a man like Jake Nelson, that must have cost him. She steeled herself to say no, but deep inside, her resolve was weakening. He’d done so much for her.

  “But not the train station,” she said.

  “Where, then?”

  She nibbled at her lower lip, thinking. “How about something outside? I overheard Gus telling one of the soldiers from maintenance that he saw beavers building a dam on that creek behind the fort. He said that can mean flooding. Let’s take a canoe and go check it out.”