Miss Delwin's Delights

by Raine Cantrell

  He took Laurel from his sister to free her to finish her chores. He matched his niece’s impish smile. “Lamb, you and I are gonna use all the black Irish charm we got from grandmama to get our own way.”

  After all, he’d bet on it.

  Chapter 3

  Bridie would have loved to indulge herself with a bath every night, but after evening chores she was so tired that she made do with a pan of hot water.

  Tonight she needed the soothing balm of soaking sore muscles in the tub. Kit’s visit had stolen the pleasure from her day.

  It was a labor to draw buckets of water from the well outside, heat some in the large cast-iron cooking pots, and then, when she soaked until the water cooled, she had to lug the buckets outside until the round wooden tub that doubled for washing laundry was emptied.

  She blamed Kit for upsetting her. She had worked far longer gathering pecans than she had intended to do today. And she had cried most of the time she was climbing up and down the trees. Immersing herself in baking a dozen pies for Mr. Lea usually made her happy, but Kit’s surprise visit had stolen that joy, too.

  Why had he come?

  She couldn’t believe for a minute that he really had intentions of calling on her. She wouldn’t fool herself into thinking she had anything that Kit wanted.

  Bridie added a few cloves and a piece of cinammon to the simmering water. Within moments, the kitchen smelled of rich, spicy scents.

  If she could afford it, she would buy perfume. But it wasn’t on her must-have list. She liked the warm, spicy aroma. And she didn’t need to worry that anyone ever came close enough to know what scent she used.

  Every penny she earned from baking for the hotel went into special jars in the pantry. The house roof had to be replaced. There was one for the doctor’s bill, and one for feed. There was the undertaker to pay for her father’s funeral, another for the cost of her baking goods, and her dream jar.

  She shook her head. There was no more than a few dollars in that one. But someday she would have enough to have water piped into the house, and a new stove. Then she would turn one of the upstairs bedrooms into a fancy bathroom like the hotel had. A real porcelain bathtub, cistern water closet and a washstand all enclosed with carved mahogany. And she would have French-milled soap scented with roses, thick and soft towels and all the perfume she could want.

  Someday …

  Bridie mixed the hot water with cold from the buckets. She got into the tub, knees scrunched to her chin, and shivered as cool drafts swept over her bare back and shoulders.

  Why had Kit really come to see her?

  And why was she still thinking about him?

  It would be far better to add a few more long-held wishes to her dream jar.

  She could buy silks, cashmeres, gloves, hosiery, and handkerchiefs at Mr. Goldsoll’s. And off she would go to Madam Raynal’s to be fitted for new underpinnings and gowns. And why stop there. A trip to Uhlig’s for new boots and shoes, Mrs. Everheart’s for a hat or two or three.

  And pick up a large bottle of Green’s August Flower, a little voice suggested. They claim it cures dizziness of the head among other ailments. You are surely suffering from this.

  Bridie thought it must be true.

  She had had a chance to spend time alone with Kit and chased him off.

  Perhaps she could spare a dollar to buy the tonic.

  She had to stop thinking about him.

  She just had to.

  About the same time in Denison, Kit told himself he had to leave the Planters House once he finished his second slice of pecan pie.

  Ah, the sacrifices a man had to make in the name of honor.

  He had to begin his courting of Bridie in earnest this evening.

  He just had to.

  When Megan, the charming Irish lass who always waited on him, approached the table with a tray of fresh coffee and another slice of pie, Kit reluctantly refused it.

  Megan was heard to remark that poor Mr. Sidell must be grievously ill.

  Kit was forced to ignore her assumption.

  But when he rode down Main Street, he kept glancing at the saloons where he could stop and spend an evening with congenial company.

  Jim Nelms would welcome him at the Cattle Exchange, even if Kit usually won when they played poker. He could stop at the Grand Southern Saloon or the Bank Exchange.

  The place he would not think about stopping at was the Palace Beer Hall.

  Not that the place itself was at fault for his stupidity, but odds were that Jamie was there.

  At the corner of Main and Burnet avenues, Jack Gallager, owner of the Eclipse Stable, hailed him.

  “I was just on my way to join you at the hotel. Know you’re usually there. Just like everyone knows how fond you are of those pies.”

  “I’ve discovered that a man’s got to have some control over his excesses, Jack, or they’ll lead him down the road to ruin.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Why did you want to see me?”

  Jack hitched his thumbs under his suspenders. “Kit, them puppies of Shadow’s are ready to be weaned. Now, you know my Gayle’s a right accommodating woman about most things, but she’s giving me grief over getting rid of the litter. Need to know if you still want four.”

  “Sure. And I’ll hear Alma’s carrying on about spoiling her children till kingdom come. But you’re not to worry, Jack. I’ll come get them tomorrow.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Kit. You’re a true man of your word. You wouldn’t be knowing of anyone that’s got a soft spot for a runt of the litter, would you? Kind of hate to put the little critter by. Should of done it when it was born, but that Shadow’s a big favorite of mine. She always gives me a litter of good pups.”

  “Wish I could help you, Jack. No one wants the runt. They usually turn out sickly and …” Mentally, Kit pulled up short. A runt? Someone with a soft spot?

  “Jack, I can help you, after all.”

  Bridie was seated at the kitchen table. She had just finished the last of her hot cocoa and licked her lips. The reworked recipe for her mother’s Angel Sighs would use less sugar with the addition of sorghum. A savings of more than a few pennies.

  She rubbed the back of her neck and put her pencil down. Now she had another way to use up the pecans. If she had enough money she could hire help to harvest them, then sell the excess.

  Lord, but she was mighty tired. And her bare feet hooked on the chair rungs were cold.

  She set her cup in a pan of water in the dry sink, banked the kitchen stove and checked that the back door was locked.

  Taking up the kerosene lamp she went out into the hall.

  She had taken no more than a few steps when someone tapped on the front door. She couldn’t even see a shadow past the gathered white lace curtain covering the glass square in the upper half of the door.

  The sound was repeated, only it wasn’t soft tapping, but hard knocking. Whoever it was could see the light of the lamp she held.

  Bridie slowly moved forward. She couldn’t imagine who would be calling at this hour.

  Bridie, standing even with the arched opening to the parlor, glanced at her father’s shotgun hanging over the fireplace.

  She wasn’t exactly frightened, but she wasn’t a fool. A woman living alone had to be careful.

  The knocking ceased, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she heard a funny sound.

  There it was again. The door was thick enough so that it wasn’t quite clear, but it didn’t sound like a human voice.

  But animals don’t knock on doors, Bridie.

  Outside, Kit shifted from one foot to the other. He lifted the puppy out of his warm jacket and held it up nose to nose with his.

  “Cry a little louder, you ungrateful runt, or we’ll both chill our tails off out here.”

  His suggestion earned him a thorough licking. Kit had one arm clamped to his side so the puppy wouldn’t
fall when he put him back inside his jacket.

  He peered through the glass. Bridie was there all right. No one else was holding the lamp. But why didn’t she come to the door? He had told her he was coming to call on her tonight.

  “Bridie? Bridie, answer the door. It’s cold out here.”

  “Kit Sidell?”

  He didn’t appreciate the raised pitch of alarm in her voice. But he had gotten her attention. He listened with satisfaction to the key turning in the lock.

  “What are you doing here, Kit?”

  What would he do if he were honest and told her the truth? What was he thinking of? Women didn’t want honesty, they liked being cajoled and seduced.

  But Kit took a look at Bridie, thinking about the pecan pie he had abandoned, and realized that Bridie was obviously not expecting him.

  The Bridie he knew, or had thought he did, would never open the door wearing a flannel robe two sizes too big that she clutched at the throat. She had been ready, all right. But for bed minus any company.

  The kerosene lamp she held cast a creamy glow on her skin. The panicked look in her eyes—why had he never noticed her eyes were full of color, as purple as violets?—told Kit he hadn’t misjudged the situation.

  Bridie wasn’t dressed to entice him.

  “I told you this morning I was coming back to call on you. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Now?” She snuck a quick peek at his face. Lord, help her, but those green eyes of his stole her breath. “You … er … you just can’t come in. Are you drunk?” She leaned forward and almost dropped the glass chimney off the lamp.

  “Sober as Reverend Tobias.” My, but Bridie blushed like a pretty pink rose. The puppy began squirming. He pressed his cold, wet nose under Kit’s arm.

  “Damn you!”

  “I beg your pardon, Kit Sidell, but what gives you the right to curse at me? Go on, get.”

  He wedged his boot between door and jamb before she could slam it closed.

  “I wasn’t cursing. And I didn’t mean that for you. I brought you a courting present.”

  Bridie bit her lip. He sounded sober and serious. She was in a quandary. No man had ever called on her. What was she supposed to do? It was late, well, for her it was, and they would be alone in the house.

  Besides, his foot held the door open.

  Even as she made up her mind to let him come as far as the parlor, Kit was lifting the puppy out of his jacket.

  “She needs a home. Runt of the litter. Good dog. From the size of her paws she’ll be a terrific watchdog for you.”

  “For me?”

  Kit held the pup by the scruff of her neck. “Take her. She needs someone to cuddle her.”

  The coal-black pup’s whimpers tore at Bridie’s heart. She was handing Kit the lamp and taking the dog from him in one second flat.

  “Oh, you sweet little love.” Thick black fur, floppy ears and a tongue that wouldn’t stop washing her cheek made Bridie fall in love. She nestled the puppy against her heart and with her head bent to whisper sweet nothings, she turned for the kitchen.

  Kit just stared at her. How could she forget he was there? It was ridiculous for him to feel jealous of her complete attention to the puppy. After all, he had brought the little runt to her. But he was jealous. And getting worried. Twice she turned from him. And this time, a critter was his competition.

  And while he was at it, he might as well admit that he wouldn’t mind hearing that sexy, husky voice of Bridie’s whisper sweet darling in his ear.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Kit asked her in a testy voice.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. Big, violet eyes shining, a smile that was downright bewitching, had Kit stand still and wish it was all for him.

  “Forgive me, Kit,” she said shyly. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never had so nice a present, and never one from a man before now. Is she really mine to keep?”

  Kit experienced the strangest feeling. He was in her hallway, holding the lamp, but he had stepped back in time, too.

  “Is it really mine to keep?” Big violet eyes, lips trembling, and thin, small hands holding the Valentine’s Day card. No, it wasn’t a card, but a wood carving he’d made.

  There was no dizzy sensation, no room tilting and swirling around him, but he felt as if he were back in the one-room schoolhouse again.

  He’d been fourteen, chafing because his parents made him finish out one more year of school. And angry. He remembered how angry he was with their spinster schoolteacher, Miss Maples.

  She made everyone write their names on small pieces of paper and then put them into crocks. Two, he recalled, one for the boys and one for the girls. At recess, she called them inside one at a time to go up and pick someone’s name out and make them a Valentine’s Day card.

  Being the tallest in class, and the oldest, he’d gone in last. When he saw Bridie’s name, he tried to bribe all the other boys to change with him. Mostly, he argued with Jamie. Everyone, including Miss Maples, knew he was sweet on Tessa Hopping. And because of what that spinster did, Jamie was going to be the one to give his girl a Valentine.

  It was all so crystal clear, it could be happening now. When he had handed Miss Maples the wooden heart he’d carved, he told her—with all respect and politeness, or his daddy would have his hide—“that it was the dang dumbest idea she had ’cause some girls, like skinny, shy Bridie, were gonna get to thinking that these tokens really meant something.”

  She had tilted her head full of faded blond hair and smiled sadly at him. “That’s what I hope. Every girl needs to dream.”

  He had stomped out of the room, took Tessa’s hand and went around back of the schoolhouse where Miss Maples had caught them kissing.

  “Kit? Kit, please answer me. Are you all right?”

  He shook his head and drew back from where his thoughts had taken him.

  It was an effort of will for Bridie to look directly at his face, and even more, to look into his eyes. She had the strangest feeling that he appeared to be trapped. It was gone in a flash. She told herself she had imagined it.

  “Won’t you say something, Kit?”

  “You sleep upstairs?”

  The abrupt question, his rough voice and the feeling that he had suddenly grown in stature to tower over her made Bridie shrink back from him.

  “Do you?” he demanded.

  “Where I sleep is—” Bridie’s mouth remained open, but no sound came out. Kit was running up the stairs.

  “You come back here! Don’t you dare go into my bedroom! Don’t you dare,” she ended in a whisper. The pup’s cold wet nose pressed against her neck. Bridie scooped up the trailing ends of her father’s old robe and went after Kit.

  Chapter 4

  Kit stopped at the open doorway and somehow knew this was Bridie’s bedroom. The cooler air hit his face like a slap. He held the lamp high but couldn’t dispel the shadows in the corners.

  Neat, clean and stark. Kit’s rapid assessment. From the plain wooden bedstead with it’s faded quilt to the simply caned rocking chair near the lace-curtained window to the bureau with a scrap of ribbon tied around dried blue bonnets to the wavy glass of the mirror.

  “It was stupid to think she kept it,” he muttered.

  “What are you doing in here?” Bridie’s voice shook with outrage.

  “A man can tell a lot about a woman by her bedroom.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve been in enough bedrooms to qualify as an authority.” Bridie clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Were those her words?

  Had she truly said them to him? To Kit? Bridie backed up the few steps of the narrow hall and leaned against the closed door to what had been her parents’ bedroom.

  Kit slowly turned around. “My, my, Bridie, you continue to surprise me. Don’t you know that’s the quickest way to keep a man dangling after you?”

  “No.” The word
was muffled. Bridie lowered her hand. She couldn’t look up at his face. She shook her head.

  “Take my word for it as gospel truth.”

  “Why did you … what are you looking—”

  “It’s just what I said. I wanted to know something more about you.” Kit had to look away from her. He couldn’t explain to her what had sent him racing up the stairs into her bedroom.

  He couldn’t even begin to explain it to himself.

  But he knew one thing—if ever a woman needed to be held, it was Bridie. She appeared ready to collapse into a boneless puddle.

  He stepped over the threshold and was no more than an arm’s reach away from her. Kit drew a deep breath. He hadn’t realized a faint, spicy smell had been tantalizing him. Another breath confirmed the scent was Bridie’s. And a glance at her flushed face told him the heat of her body intensified the scent lingering on her skin.

  His gaze targeted the flesh revealed by the puppy having snuggled her way beneath the shawl collar of Bridie’s robe.

  The lamp shook in his hand. Kit looked down at it. What was happening to him? He wasn’t a green kid. How could being near to her have his body reacting like he was unsure of himself?

  “You’d better leave, Kit.” Bridie lifted the puppy and gazed with regret at coal-black eyes. “Go away, Kit, and take your puppy with you.”

  One of them had to take the step closer to make the exchange of lamp and pup. Bridie wasn’t moving.

  Kit wanted to, but he wanted his hands free when he did.

  “You can’t return a gift, Bridie. I won’t take her back. I can’t. I promised Jack Gallager that I had a good home for her. I’ve already got four of the litter coming to my house tomorrow.”

  How could a man sound so sincere and have green eyes filled with temptation that lured and promised all sorts of wicked things that had nothing to do with his words?

  Bridie didn’t know. She didn’t think she would ever know that secret. All she could do was to cuddle the pup and wish that he would leave.

  She wasn’t afraid of Kit. Only of what he made her feel.