Miss Delwin's Delights

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Miss Delwin's Delights Page 5

by Raine Cantrell


  Before she left to deliver her goods, she carefully sliced the last cake into almost paper-thin layers. Each sat on a plate and she sprinkled bourbon over the tops. More blanched pecans sat soaking up the liquor in a bowl.

  She had to hurry to hitch up the wagon, for her callers had her running late. A thick layer of straw in the wagon bed cushioned the boxed cakes for the drive into town. At the last moment she decided to take Cinders with her, for there was no telling what mischief the puppy could get into if left alone.

  The day was brisk, even colder to Bridie after being in the hot kitchen all morning. But the cold air helped to clear the cobwebs from a night spent dreaming impossible dreams, and a morning’s dose of truth.

  She took the long way around town to avoid being seen going to the back of the hotel. And for the first time, she wondered why she wanted it kept secret.

  Pride, Bridie.

  And she couldn’t argue with that.

  Mr. Lea was upset that she shorted him one cake, but Bridie promised she would bring him two extra pecan pies next time. She collected her empty boxes, and refused all his pleas that she increase the amounts of baked goods that she sold him.

  “I’ll up the price, Miss Delwin. Folks is coming from far and wide. Your desserts are getting famous and my hotel right along with them.”

  Rather than being pleased, Bridie bristled. Men! All they thought about was putting temptation in a good woman’s way.

  But she needed more money to get debts paid. “I’ll think about it.”

  Bridie usually left her bill-paying round until Friday, but she needed to stop at the grocery. To resist any temptation she kept her eyes straight ahead on the spot between her horse’s ears. She wouldn’t look at the store windows, especially not at Madam Raynal’s or Mrs. Everheart’s windows.

  Cinders slept curled in the old horse blanket she put near her feet. She drew up before the grocery, set the pole brake and tied off the reins. The freedom of wearing her britches the last few days made her clumsy in the long skirt.

  Bridie was shocked to find two strong hands at her waist helping her down. When she turned, she saw it was Jamie McCarthy.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled and hurried past him into the store. Mr. Bibbs was behind the counter, waiting on a customer. Bridie saw that he had a new wheel of cheese set out. She’d have another box, for he always saved them for her. Bridie picked out one tin of cocoa. She would stop tomorrow at the Alamo Grocery for another, then on Monday to the Corner Grocery. She didn’t like shopping at Henry Merritt’s because he always asked questions about every purchase. And men talked of how women gossiped.

  She stopped at the board where Mr. Bibbs posted the back page of the Denison Daily News. There was a nasty farewell to the editor of the Herald who had closed up shop. A notice of the Ladies’ Aid meeting at Mrs. Gilmore’s, Mr. Ledrick’s announcement that new carpets had arrived and were cheaply priced for superior stock and railroad news. Bridie skimmed these, and the notices of who was staying in town, mostly army personnel.

  What did attract her attention was the small ad that Kansas City sugar cured dried beef had arrived at Wood & Company. Mr. Lea served it at the hotel, and she had tasted it. But it was not a purchase for her budget this month. Yeidel’s was adding pure old apple and peach brandies. She added that to her list. The hardware store of McCarthy & Company on Third Street, which belonged to Jamie’s family, had new cake pans, French coffee pots, pudding pans. If Bridie was to increase Mr. Lea’s order, she would have to buy more pans. Another expense to figure.

  Seeing that Mr. Bibb was alone at the counter, Bridie took her few purchases to him. After he had totaled it up, she added five dollars toward her account. She smiled and thanked him for saving the box for her.

  Outside, Bridie had the unpleasant surprise of seeing Jamie leaning against the side of her wagon. He took advantage by taking the box from her and placing it on the seat, but blocked her way.

  Jamie had been one of her worse tormentors. He’d pulled her braids, stuck the ends in his ink well, and called her Birdie, among other things. He had teased her unmercifully that there was a knothole in the outhouse so that she had refused to use it for a month of recesses. He wasn’t the only one, put he’d been the ringleader urging others to steal her copy book, put snakes and frogs in her desk, and in her lunch basket. Kit, she recalled, was too often surrounded by the girls vying for his attention.

  Bridie drew the edges of her old jacket together and tried to step around him.

  “I waited for you. I want to know if you’re coming to the cakewalk.”

  “I don’t know that’s business of yours, Jamie. Now let me by.”

  “Kit said he’s bringing you. I got a vested interest in knowing if it’s true.”

  Bridie looked up at him, for he was as tall as Kit and she supposed at a distance could be judged to have the same build and handsomeness. And she didn’t like the way Jamie looked her over as if she were something he was thinking of buying.

  “What you and Kit do don’t matter a hill of beans to me.”

  Jamie stepped forward, crowding her against the roof post. “Now, don’t you get all high and mighty with me. I asked you real nice. Seems to me you’ve been holding out on all us single men if what Kit says is true.”

  Bridie was so shocked she couldn’t utter a sound. Kit had told him. Of all her youthful sufferings, this had to be the worst. She fought the tears stinging her eyes and wished she used a buggy whip. She wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  “Get out of my way, Jamie McCarthy. And don’t you ever, ever dare speak to me again.” Hours of whipping batters had given strength to her arms. Bridie shoved him aside. She didn’t think she had moved him by her push as much as by the sheer surprise that she did it.

  She climbed on the wagon seat, then looked down at him. “And you tell that devil’s-stud-of-the-country friend of yours that if he dares step on my land I’ll have a shotgun waiting.”

  She fumbled untying the reins, and released the pole brake only to hear his reply.

  “Kit ain’t gonna like losing his bet. You’ll need more than that to keep him away.”

  “Bet? What bet?”

  Jamie had to look away. He’d done it now. If Kit found out that he had let the cat out of the bag, there’d be hell to pay. And he’d lose his chance to have High Man.

  “You got my tongue all twisted, Bridie. He bet he’d have the cake, then a dance with all the prettiest gals around.”

  “But that wouldn’t include me, would it, Jamie?”

  Chapter 6

  Bridie didn’t cry on the way home. She couldn’t even curse Kit. She had learned one more lesson. Next time she would trust her inner feelings that Kit was up to no good.

  She didn’t for a minute believe that Jamie had told her the truth. Even if it was a brag the likes of which Kit would make. There was something more.

  A bet. About her. How could Kit, a man so handsomely packaged, have such a wicked turn of mind? She had never done anything to harm him. Why would he deliberately seek her out to hurt?

  She put up the horse when she reached home. She mashed the boiled egg yolks left from the frosting, and mixed it with bread and warm milk for Cinders. If she hadn’t already loved the puppy, she would take her right back to Mr. Gallager.

  Bridie lost heart to finish her fancy cake. But ingrained practicality refused to allow her to waste it. She didn’t bother to drain the pecans but crushed them right along with the bourbon they had soaked in. She sprinkled them on each layer.

  She hadn’t eaten anything since morning and the liquor’s fumes went straight to her head. The frosting had been left sitting too long and it was stiff and dry. With the bottle handy, she poured in a small amount of bourbon and worked it in. She wouldn’t think about what Jamie said. But that frosting got a beating that additional liquor helped to make creamy smooth. Foolishly, Bridie tasted it. Not a little finger lick, but a whole wooden spoon
full.

  “A little thinner or I won’t have enough,” she muttered and tilted the bottle over the bowl again.

  Bridie didn’t know if she had any tolerance for liquor. She never drank any, but within minutes of the throat-burning, eye-watering mouthful going down, she had another taste.

  Warmth slid inside her with all the comfort of eating hot porridge on a cold winter’s morning.

  By the time she placed the last liquor-soaked layer on top there was no frosting left. Bridie wasn’t feeling any pain as she viewed her four-layer creation through blurry eyes.

  “Cinders, any man eating this cake is gonna need gallons and gallons of coffee to sober him up. His head’ll feel like he stuck it in a hot oven. Just like mine,” she added with a moan.

  “Liar, liar, set your tongue on fire.” The childish taunt was anything but to Bridie. She hoped that Kit won her cake, won it and ate every crumb and nut by himself. She hoped he’d make a fool of himself, too. Let everyone have a laugh at his expense for a change.

  Having such spiteful thoughts didn’t sit well with her. The tears came, and kept on coming as she stumbled her way through evening chores. By the time she returned to the house a haze settled on her and she felt like she was floating.

  She played tug-of-war over a rag with the puppy, grinning and laughing far more than her antics called for, but Bridie had never felt so free and cared so little. Supper time came and went without notice. She struggled to remember something she had to do, but even that was beyond her.

  Bridie pulled herself up by using the table for support. She stared at the clutter on the table. If she didn’t find a way to clean it all, she’d have ants visiting by morning.

  She kept tripping over her own feet and the puppy still wanting to play. The kettle whistled and spouted steam, adding heat to an already overhot room that had her stripped down to her camisole and drawers. She kept pushing herself to clean everything even when the happy daze disappeared and her head ached.

  Bridie, clutching the wooden valentine to her heart, was close to passing out. She had a last thought before she gave way. She couldn’t be angry with Kit. He had given her dreams with taste, scent, touch and sight of him that no imagings could. And no one would steal that from her.

  Kit had spent the day with his early-returning brother-in-law. By suppertime he was chafing to get away from all the sidelong glances Alma and Tom exchanged. He was pleased with Tom’s report of how well the first rice crop yielded, but even that excitement had palled.

  Kit had to be honest with himself. He wanted to see Bridie.

  “Tom, we’ll talk more tomorrow. Right now, my sister’s aiming to clobber me if I don’t let you two get on with her proper homecoming now that your brood’s asleep.”

  “If you’re going to town, Kit—”

  “Alma, I’m a grown man. Don’t be asking where I’m going an’ don’t be asking what I’ll be doing, or when I’m coming back.”

  But Alma had forgotten to ask Kit her favor in the excitement of having Tom home early. She left Tom in the parlor and went after her brother.

  “Kit, please wait. I want you to do something for me.” The fact that he stood hat in hand and quiet was all the encouragement she needed. “Kit, I want Bridie to come to the social tomorrow night. I couldn’t convince her, but I thought if you stopped by and asked …” Alma’s voice trailed off, for Kit was scowling at her. “Did I say—”

  “You said enough. What did Jamie tell you?”

  “Jamie? What has he got to do with my asking you to call on Bridie? Kit, you can be so charming. Please. Do this for me. That young woman is so shy and she shouldn’t be alone all the time.”

  “Sure.” It was the easiest and quickest way for him to escape. Kit almost ran to the stable. He didn’t want her to know what a possessive feeling came over him when Alma mentioned Bridie. Thank goodness that Tom was home. He’d keep her mind from questioning his slip about Jamie.

  He ordered one of the geldings saddled for he wouldn’t risk riding High Man in the dark. And when the groom took too long, Kit sent him away and finished saddling the horse himself.

  It was barely eight o’clock. He’d have a good long visit with Bridie tonight.

  But when Kit arrived at Bridie’s after riding at a pace no sane man would have, he found the house dark. Another man would have left, certainly after receiving no response to his repeated knocking, but not Kit. He kept thinking about Bridie being alone, maybe sick or hurt, and no one would ever know.

  He shouted her name, he went to the side of the house and tossed pebbles at her bedroom window. He earned nothing for his effort. The squeaky sound was so faint that at first he thought he imagined it. But no, there it was again, a bit louder. He was almost around to the back of the house when the sound registered as water being pumped.

  And he stood stock still at the sight that greeted him.

  Bridie—and that luscious, rounded form could be no one else—was bent over with head beneath the stream of water she pumped. He could not make sense of her mutterings, nor could he move. There wasn’t much moonlight, but what there was showed pristine white drawers clinging to flesh that had to be chilled to the bone. She came up sputtering, that glorious length of chestnut hair cloaking her skimply clad body.

  “Never, never again,” she groaned, and bent over once more.

  “Bridie!” He strode forward when it appeared she didn’t hear him.

  Now Bridie had been outside trying to clear cobwebs and the nausea that sent her running from her bed for more than a few minutes. The ground around the pump was a muddy puddle.

  Kit came skidding into it, too late to stop his momentum but he had enough sense to grab hold of Bridie and roll as he went down. She landed with her back to his chest, her legs straddling his.

  It was cold. Wet. And crazy. But Kit discovered that his body liked Bridie’s too much. It preened like every male in creation did when seeking its mate. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  He remembered last night, and all the effort he made to hang on to his calm. He also remembered that they had had cloth separating their bodies. The minute his hands lifted to her hips, a message went speeding along his nerve ends. The heated throb of his blood would have rivaled, then surpassed, the moment High Man won a race. The sheer cloth was no barrier at all.

  And he couldn’t seem to think past that fact.

  Bridie was trying to figure out what had happened. One moment she had been pumping water over her aching head, the next her legs seemed to give way. But instead of cold, wet mud, her bottom was cushioned by hard heat.

  “I swear I’ll never touch the devil’s drink again.”

  Bridie lowered her arms and found her fingertips barely grazed the ground. She blinked and stared, rubbed her eyes and stared again at the dark cloth knee raising in front of her. The awareness of what she was sitting on, and whose knee it was, hit her like the first icy splash from the well.

  “Oh, my Lord!”

  “No. It’s me, Kit.”

  Cold, stone sober Bridie demanded that he let her go.

  “Bridie, I don’t think I can. I don’t believe it is within my power to move at the moment. I might die.”

  “Christopher Sidell, you let me go or I’ll do the dying.”

  “You don’t seem to understand that—”

  “You’re holding my … touching my …” Bridie gave up and wailed.

  “Bridie, honey, don’t cry. I’ll get up. I’ll let you go. See? My hands are flat on mud. You just need to use a little care when you—Bridie! That’s my—”

  “Preening peacock!” she yelled and rolled over into the mud. It was a race who scrambled to their feet first. But Bridie wanted nothing to do with him. He tore off his jacket and attempted to wrap her in its fleecy warmth, but she threw it back at him.

  “Stop it, you little hellcat! I’m trying to keep you from getting sick. What possessed you to come out here
and dunk yourself with cold water?” Kit reached out to grab her as she slipped, but his muddy hand slid along her arm and down she went.

  “Don’t call me names. Don’t come near me.” With every order Bridie scrambled backward. She was chilled to the bone, and more than thirteen years of misery over this one man was threatening to erupt.

  “At least let me help you into the house.”

  “Oh, no. You’re not going to fool me like that again. Let you inside and I might as well invite the devil to supper.”

  Kit struggled to dig deep for some of the charm that his sister had reminded him he had. Yelling hadn’t worked. Pleading wasn’t doing him a bit of good. With her hair all tangled over her face she couldn’t see his smile as she managed to stand by clinging to the post of the small overhang’s roof.

  Her nipples were dark and puckered with cold, clearly revealed by the thin muddy cloth.

  Perhaps it was better that Bridie couldn’t see his smile, or the look in his eyes. Aroused as he was, Kit also was aware that Bridie was vulnerable right now. Not just physically but emotionally. But he’d be damned if he could leave her without knowing what had set her off. Last night she had come to him sweet as spun sugar and melted against him. He was hungry for another taste.

  Bridie hauled herself up the back step, but Kit’s voice stopped her when she reached for the door.

  “You can’t leave me out here drenched in mud, Bridie. I’d catch my death if I tried to ride home like this.”

  “I don’t trust you, Kit. But you’re right. I won’t be responsible for having you sick. The women in this county would likely lynch me. Come as far as the kitchen. Not one step more.”

 

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