The moment they stepped inside the shop, Rick took a step away until all that touched was their interlocked arms. While she missed the feel of his body pressed alongside hers, the sights in the room were adequate to distract her. Rows of shelves filled with bolts of fabric in several different colors and patterns stood on the left side of the room. On the right sat a desk with a man behind it cutting fabric. When the bell over the door chimed he popped up and greeted them with a crooked-toothed smile.
“Hello, hello, what can I do for you folks today?”
“Good day, sir. The lady and I are visiting a fine dining establishment this evening and hope you might have time to tailor something you have on hand for us,” Rick said.
Smiling wide and nodding, he looked to Cat. Before he could speak, she jumped in. “And I’d like to trade it tomorrow for some sturdy traveling clothes, if that’s possible.”
The man began to walk around her, digging in his apron. “Of course, not a problem in the slightest. Such beautiful red hair, perhaps something in green satin…” He spoke mostly to himself.
“I would love gold if you have something in that color,” she interrupted his murmurings.
His wide eyes sparkled with inspiration and his murmurings took on a whole new enthusiasm. “Yes, oh yes, I have just the thing…” His words trailed off into whispers about measurements, lace, and other things too quiet for her to follow.
A woman emerged from the back and escorted Cat into the depths of the shop. For a few hurried moments she took her measurements in the privacy of a back room with a curtain for a door. When finished, she took her out to the main room to give her options for accessories and shoes. While they waited, she and Rick were served afternoon tea by a finely dressed young man who couldn’t be much over eight. From the similar eyes and chin, she guessed it was the tailor’s son. The boy kept them company and they swapped news with him while sipping tea. Cat was so relieved at the chance to sit on soft, comfortable furniture that she was disappointed when the tailor brought out bundled packages for them.
Before Rick could try to offer, she stepped up to the counter and paid for her own items. The woman taking her money raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Rick’s tight lips tried to hide a smile, a protest, or both. Once finished, she moved away to allow him to pay for his own items. Courting or not, she wasn’t about to allow herself to become indebted to a man ever again if she could help it. And in this case, she could.
The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the town as they stepped back out onto the street. The number of wagons and the foot traffic had decreased by half, leaving the air clearer of dust and refreshing. Or maybe that was just her building excitement making the entire world feel like a more hospitable place. Stolen glances through her hair at Rick’s handsome profile only heightened the feeling. She felt giddy as a schoolgirl with an infatuation but without the pressure and anxiety that came with it. The only other infatuation she’d ever had was Michael. That had come with all sorts of pressure.
She floated all the way back to the inn on a cloud of excitement that kept her chatting randomly about the array of shops and the warmth of the Mormon community surrounding them. With smiles and nods, and not a single complaint, Rick escorted her to the door of her room.
“Will half an hour be adequate, or would you prefer longer to get ready?” he asked.
The question took her completely by surprise, leaving her mouth hanging. She’d never been given a choice in such matters. It took her a moment to think it over and seize the rare opportunity. “An hour would be nice, thank you.” The deviation was due in part to test his response and in part because she would need extra time to get into the complicated layers that went with such a dress. Doing it on her own wasn’t impossible, but it wouldn’t be an easy task.
Stepping back, Rick kissed her hand. “O’ course. I shall see you in an hour.”
The kiss lingered, his soft lips and warm breath thrilling her as much as the control he had just given her. He spun away and strode to his door across the hall. After unlocking and opening it, he turned around and bowed deeply to her. That handsome grin left her breathless and swooning as he closed the door. She leaned back against the wall and tried to capture her runaway heart.
* * * *
Busy as she was primping her hair and getting into her layers of clothing, the hour couldn’t go fast enough. While at the tailor’s, she had heard Rick and the man talking through the thin walls. It had sounded as though the man had a fine suit he was tailoring to Rick’s size. She had never imagined a man like Rick would wear a suit. Now she couldn’t stop imagining it. Her mind conjured up the image as she struggled with her corset. The darn thing proved impossible to get properly tight on her own, but she managed to make it at least serviceable to hold up her breasts.
Looking at them pale and pouring over the tan corset reminded her of Rick’s hand on them. Her nipples popped to attention at the memory. Tingles spread through them, then down her abdomen and between her legs from there. She grabbed her right breast and gently pinched the nipple, imagining the touch was Rick’s. Moisture made the sensitive folds of skin at her apex slick. She moaned aloud before remembering how thin the walls of such an establishment could be. That served to snap her out of her daydream with jarring speed.
She stared at her reflection in surprise. Even though she was the only witness, her cheeks flushed scarlet. The sight made her smile. It had been so long since she’d desired intimacy with a man that she had nearly forgotten how powerful the urge could be. Shaking her head to clear the desire away, she let go of her breast with reluctant slowness and reached for her dress. Focus didn’t come easily after that. For one, even the brush of fabric kept her nipples hard, and each step made her acutely aware of how her slick folds rubbed together. Once she had her dress on, she splashed a bit of water from the basin on her face. Hands on the vanity, she leaned close to the foggy mirror and stared herself in the eye.
“Get hold of yourself, woman. Can’t have him thinking you’re a tart who opens her legs for any man,” she chastised herself.
With a deep breath, she straightened and smoothed her golden-hued dress. Lovely as it was with a square neckline bordered by lace and gathered at the waist, the thing felt confining after wearing breeches for so long. It didn’t help that the corset forced her to take such short breaths. While she had always worn it with her blouse, the loose fit had allowed her to keep the corset loose as well. This fine dress made no such allowances. If she hadn’t cinched it up so tight she might split a seam. Turning this way and that in the mirror, she admired how the hoop held the gold fabric out and helped it move. Comfort aside, it was lovely, and it was nice to wear something lovely again.
A knock on the door got her blood pumping to sensitive regions all over again. Well, at least there was no need for rouge. She ran her hands over her hair in a few spots, bit her lips for color, and walked to the door as slowly as she could make herself. It turned out just short of a mad dash she was grateful Rick couldn’t see.
“Hello, Miss Catriona. ’Tis Patrick Fergusson come to fetch you for dinner,” Rick’s semi-formal voice drifted through the door.
The fact that he had called her Miss Catriona instead of Mrs. O’Brian made her smile so big it hurt her cheeks. She was of a mind to tell him how much this touched her when she opened the door, caught sight of him, and lost all ability to speak. A charcoal suit tailored just right accented his broad shoulders and muscular arms, as well as all the right lines of his legs and groin. Fine black shoes had replaced his dusty, brown boots. Her breath caught when she tried to speak. Despite the absolutely dashing figure he cut, it was his face she couldn’t stop staring at. The beard and mustache were gone. A strong jaw offset fine cheekbones, balancing out to give him a mature, handsome visage. He had pulled his chin-length brown hair back with a charcoal ribbon and tucked it into a bun of the style she had seen in paintin
gs of ancient Japanese warriors. Without all the scruff on his face, his green eyes stood out in a manner that captured her without mercy. Lessons drilled into her by an insistent mother were all that helped her scramble together an ounce of etiquette.
“Mr. Fergusson, thank you for coming to fetch me. You look…” She struggled for words that wouldn’t sound like she wanted to tear all his fine clothes off. “You look quite dashing.”
But the words proved unnecessary. Rick’s wide-eyed look of shock made it clear he hadn’t heard a thing she said. He murmured something in a form of Gaelic that wasn’t quite Irish as his gaze slowly traveled up her body. By the time they reached her face, desire burned in his green eyes like sparks around an emerald.
“You look absolutely stunning,” he finally said in English.
She looked down before the heat could fully enflame her face. His elbow extended toward her.
“Shall we?” he asked.
She nodded and straightened, doing her best to be the portrait of poise and collection that she felt so far from. Curiosity soon distracted her from her nerves and allowed her to notice some odd things about Rick. The confident, easy way in which he carried himself made her think he wasn’t a stranger to fine clothing. Most lower class men fussed when they had to dress in such a manner. She realized she didn’t know much about Rick’s life before being a guide.
Her curiosity grew into something she could barely contain. Not that his class mattered. She had enough money, and he clearly wasn’t the type to seek such a thing. But then, he never seemed to want for or complain about money. The way he had paid for their lodging that first night in Omaha, how he replenished their supplies at each outpost even if they didn’t need it, how he replaced his traveling clothes so readily, it all spoke of someone unconcerned with money. It didn’t make sense. It was as if he wasn’t the penniless rogue she had thought him to be.
If he didn’t want for money, why on Earth did he risk his life escorting people across America? The trip was a grand adventure, to be sure. But she couldn’t imagine anyone enduring it more than once if they didn’t have to.
The crowded dining room downstairs with its clanging plates and chatting patrons didn’t allow her the chance to make inquiries. With many murmured pardons, they made their way through the inn’s dining room and out into the streets. Golden lamplight lit the mostly empty streets in scattered pools. Only a few wagons and horses traversed the streets, working folk on their way home from the looks of it.
The normalcy of it all struck her as unusual after weeks on the trail. Nostalgia wrapped up around her and made her miss her friends terribly. The heavy scent of salt in the air didn’t help, either, as it conjured up memories of the bays back in New York. At the same time, she was quite excited to be on Rick’s arm walking through a civilized city. It smelled a bit more than she remembered. The slight sweetness of manure mixed with the tang of lamp oil, while the sweat of hard-working people mingled with the perfume of the upper class. Neither mixture was pleasant in any way. It made her realize how much she was going to love living in the country again.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this quiet. You’re all right, I hope?” Rick asked.
She smiled up at him, stricken once again by how handsome he was beneath all the scruff he had shaved off. Another part of her missed it. The ruggedness held a certain excitement and danger that had been very appealing.
“Quite, thank you. I think I may just be in a bit of shock at discovering the civilized man who was hiding beneath that beard,” she said.
Rick groaned, an enticing sound that did wonderful things to her. “I’ve gone and done it now. My roguish façade has been ruined,” he said.
With a laugh, she looked to the darkening sky in a gesture equally as dramatic. He joined her with an easy laughter that sounded like it came from deep in his soul. It was a lovely sound to hear coming from a man so haunted. That thought made her look to the people who walked the streets and sidewalks. While she knew Rick wouldn’t lie to her about Ainsworth not moving his goods through Utah, she couldn’t help but fear he might have men here anyway. Silly and irrational though the fear was, it refused to go away. No one looked twice at them save to smile or ogle one or the other of them. All in all, the strangers seemed innocent of wishing them any ill. She did her best to believe that and breathe easier.
Less than half a block later, Rick opened the door to a fine dining establishment where they were met by a gentleman in a fine gray suit. At hearing Rick’s name, he nodded and escorted them inside. The view within made her forget all about Ainsworth and his men.
Fine tablecloths lined with delicate lace-draped round tables meant to seat a couple. A high ceiling made the smallish room feel spacious. Several feet lay between the two dozen or so tables, making it clear the owners cared more about their guests’ comfort than the amount of them they could fit into the room. Large, yellow candles sat amidst centerpieces of fresh daisies and buttercup flowers on each table. Aromas of roasting meat and vegetables filled the air. Cat’s mouth began to water. Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t been able to get her corset very tight. A warm, finely cooked meal wasn’t something she had had often of late.
Their host led them through the room and out a large oak door that looked like it could withstand an entire regiment of Rebels. It opened onto a lush garden of raised beds sitting in rows that spread out in a maze framed by tall fruit trees. Shadows draped it all, broken up by pockets of light shining down from windows of surrounding buildings—windows that were above head height. No one would be able to see this secluded garden. Cat’s curiosity piqued as their host led them down a path of flagstones set in low-growing mint that released its lovely fragrance with each step they took. The man paused at a planting bench to light a candle and take it with them.
A hesitant smile tugged at her lips as she looked over at Rick. He hid a smile of his own as he gave her a sideways glance. What was he up to? She trusted him more than she thought she’d ever be able to trust a man after Michael, but this was all quite unusual. They ducked beneath the fruit trees and skirted around what looked like a blueberry bush. The dark made it hard to tell, but she smelled blueberries so it seemed likely. On the other side, starlight spilled down on rows of grapevines growing up trellises. Dark or not, she would know their silhouettes and scents anywhere. Rows spread out like the spokes of a wheel from a little gazebo aglow with candlelight.
They walked between the rows to the gazebo. A small round table set in the same manner as those inside the establishment waited in the center of the gazebo. Grapevines grew up the support beams of the structure, their leaves and fruit hanging down to add a screen of extra privacy. Rick had to duck to get beneath them. Three big yellow candles cast a lovely glow on fine porcelain plates. It looked nothing short of magical to her. Somehow she managed to mumble her gratitude when Rick pulled out her chair for her.
Their host rattled off the menu, but she couldn’t concentrate long enough to listen to him. Too much beauty lay around her, drawing her attention away. Grapes hung everywhere in big clumps, and they smelled divine.
“Catriona, what would you like to eat?” Rick asked after a moment of silence she didn’t realize had fallen until it was too late.
Cheeks warming, she struggled to recall anything their host had said. “I’ll have whatever you recommend,” she finally told Rick.
Normally, she would have seized the opportunity to choose for herself. But she had already ignored the poor host; she wasn’t about to ask him to repeat himself. Besides, she had a feeling more opportunities for such independence would arise with Rick. Attention riveted on the grapes hanging down not five feet from her, she barely heard Rick order. Their lovely aroma told her what type of grapes they were. Such robust fruit had to mean excellent soil, soil she wouldn’t have expected to find so near the Salt Lake. It made her wonder if they had brought in soil.
Their host made a motion with his chin and a man with a violin stepped out of the shadows between two rows. With promises to return shortly, their host took his leave. The violinist remained back at the edge of the rows. He was close enough to the gazebo to be considered a proper chaperone, but far enough away to give them adequate privacy for conversation. At a nod from Rick, the man set bow to strings and began to play. Beautiful music that tugged at her soul filled the warm evening air. It mingled with the sound of crickets and a few frogs quite nicely. She enjoyed it for several moments before her excitement got the better of her and loosened her tongue.
“However did you find such a place? ’Tis downright magical,” she said, keeping her voice down so it didn’t compete with the music.
Eyes alight, he delved into a story about a need to find a watering hole that served more than water. He told her how he had endured the company of a horribly tiresome fop all the way from Omaha and either had to unwind or end up leaving the man here. He had a way of telling the story that made her laugh with the unrestrained joy of a young lass and beg for more details. His animated manner and quick wit made him quite the storyteller. But what truly impressed her was the way he listened to her responses and engaged her as though what she had to say was more important than his own words.
All too soon, their host returned. Once she saw the bottle he cradled in one arm and the two delicate wineglasses he carried, she instantly forgave his interruption. He set the glasses down with softly spoken apologies for interrupting. A loud pop sounded as he uncorked the bottle.
“Per the gentleman’s request, our finest white wine for the lady.” He went on for a bit about the age of the vines that had produced the grapes and even touched a bit on the town in Italy the vines had originated from.
While she wanted nothing more than to get back to her privacy with Rick, she knew the man’s conversation for what it was: time to allow the wine to breathe. That he knew to do so impressed her. Finally, he filled their glasses.
Courting the Corporal Page 20