Cinnamon and Roses

by Heidi Betts

  Without waiting for Caleb's assistance, Rebecca lifted the hem of her skirt, found her footing on the spoked wheel, and carefully lowered herself until her toes met the hard earth below. Straightening her skirts, she walked past the horses and slipped the handle of her basket into the crook of her elbow. She turned around and stopped short as she saw Caleb and Megan standing next to each other, watching her.

  "Thank you for inviting me along for your picnic. I had a very nice time.” She started past them, hoping to get away as soon as possible. “I really have to go now. I should have been home hours ago."

  "Caleb will take you back,” Megan quickly interjected. “Won't you, Caleb?"

  "Sure.” He took a step toward Rebecca, holding out a hand.

  She took a step back, clutching her basket all the more tightly. “No, thank you. I'll be fine."

  "Posh,” Megan said, taking Rebecca's arm and drawing her forward. “Caleb is going into town, and there's just no sense in your walking all that way when he can give you a ride."

  She took her brother's wrist and put his hand on Rebecca's arm in place of her own. “You make sure she gets home safe and sound now, Caleb. Tell Papa dinner will be ready by the time he gets here.” She turned without another word and hurried across the yard and into the house.

  Rebecca moved away from Caleb, breaking his superficial hold on her arm. “I'd rather walk. Really."

  "Sorry,” he said, taking a step closer. “I can't let you do that. Megan would have my hide if I didn't see you to your door. Besides, I can get you home in half the time it would take you to walk."

  Rebecca gritted her teeth and let him put his hands about her waist for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. She scooted to the very edge of the seat, setting her basket between them as a makeshift barrier. Caleb threw her a sidelong glance but refrained from commenting.

  Less than half a mile outside of town, Caleb slowed the horses and brought the wagon to a halt in the middle of the road. Rebecca flinched and slid even farther away from him until the corner of the hard wood seat pressed painfully against her hip.

  "Why are we stopping?” she asked, forcing a note of bravery into her voice that she certainly didn't feel. Was he going to make advances toward her? Even though he didn't much like her, it was no less than she should expect from a man. Especially one like Caleb Adams, obviously a sensualist used to getting what he wanted when he wanted and answering to no one for his actions.

  Rather than moving toward her, Caleb turned away and jumped to the ground. “I thought you might like to pick some flowers."

  He came around the front of the team and held out his arms for her. Not sure how to react to his offer, Rebecca slowly reached out to put her hands on his shoulders.

  Caleb smiled and let his palms rest on her waist until she found her footing beneath the tangle of skirts and petticoats. “There's quite a variety over there, I noticed,” he said, pointing. “I don't know what any of them are, but they look pretty enough."

  Her earlier panic washed away, replaced by a slight warming in the region of her heart for the second time in one day. Rebecca smiled. How could she not when Caleb was being so kind? Imagine his interrupting his drive into town to let her retrieve more wildflowers. He had heard her say she wanted some for her house, and, more important, he had remembered.

  The contentment she was experiencing would soon pass, Rebecca was sure, but for once in her life she decided to stop worrying and enjoy a moment of happiness being offered.

  "Come on,” Caleb said, holding a palm out.

  Rebecca held her breath for a moment before relaxing enough to put her hand in his. Caleb's warm fingers grasped hers securely but not tightly enough to make her uneasy. He led her to where a kaleidoscope of wildflowers grew in profusion beside the road.

  Rebecca slipped her hand from his somewhat reluctantly and stooped to select her blossoms.

  "May I help?” he asked.

  "I'd love some of those,” she pointed out. “The blue ones. But they're too far for me to reach."

  Caleb looked skeptically at the pretty blue flowers growing at the top of the sloping roadside, but he manfully stepped forward.

  Rebecca started choosing wild roses closer by, careful of their thorns. When she noticed Caleb had been gone for a while, she glanced up to see him standing at the top of the small hill holding two huge armfuls of turquoise chicories like a warrior returning, home from battle with the armor of his enemy. “Are you happy now?” he said.

  "They're beautiful. Thank you."

  "Do you want anything else while I'm up here?"

  She laughed. “No, I think you have enough there to brighten every kitchen in Kansas."

  Rebecca reached for a few tall strands of buttercups as Caleb began his descent. She heard a curse, the sound of rustling leaves, and, as she turned, she saw Caleb's feet slip out from under him before he fell headfirst down the incline, landing in the middle of the road.

  The horses whinnied and stepped back from his prone form. Rebecca picked up her skirts, the forgotten roses and buttercups dropping to the ground as she ran to his side.

  "Caleb?"

  No answer. No movement. She brushed the hair out of his face, looking for cuts or bruises. Pulling at his arm, she gently levered a knee beneath his weight and pushed with all her might until Caleb rolled to his back. She collapsed atop his chest and, pressing two fingers against his neck, checked for a pulse, finding it a bit erratic but strong.

  "Caleb?” She shook him, trying to bring him around. “Come on, Caleb, wake up. You didn't fall that far. You couldn't possibly be this badly hurt."

  Rebecca's blood pounded in her ears when he still didn't move. She sat back on her heels, leaning over him, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Caleb! Dammit, get up!"

  Nothing.

  "If you don't get up right this minute, I'll walk the rest of the way into town and leave you here to rot. Do you hear me?"

  A low moan and slight movement of his head caught her attention. “Can you hear me? Caleb, answer me.” She patted his cheek, her slaps becoming stronger the longer he refused to respond.

  "I hear you. Now stop hitting me,” Caleb said, grabbing her wrist.

  She pulled away and sat back on her heels. “I was not hitting you. I was trying to wake you up.” She became suspicious. “Were you really unconscious?"

  Caleb sat up slowly, propping his elbow on his bent knee. “Would you really have left me here?” he countered, a sly grin lifting one side of his mouth.

  Rebecca straightened her spine and leaned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “So you were awake. That's a cruel trick, Caleb Adams. It would serve you right to be left here. It's no better than you deserve."

  Caleb touched her arm, unlocking it from the other and bringing her hand to his lips. “Were you frightened, Rebecca?"

  "Of course not,” she scoffed.

  "Then why did you look so worried?"

  "Because I...” She lifted her head and saw how very near she was to Caleb. His lips were only inches from hers, coming ever closer.

  Panic seized her heart, and she jumped to her feet, hurrying to the buckboard. “I think we should go now.” She heard Caleb sigh as he, too, rose and made his way to the wagon. He put a hand under her arm and helped her up.

  "My flowers!” Rebecca moved to step down from the seat.

  "I'll get them,” Caleb said, winking and gesturing for her to stay put. He went to collect the scattered blossoms, passing them to Rebecca before he climbed up next to her.

  Riding in silence, Rebecca surveyed Caleb's profile out of the corner of her eye. The smooth plane of his jawline, darkened by a touch of new whiskers. The blackness of his windblown hair as it fell across his forehead. As she looked more closely, Rebecca noticed for the first time a slight crinkling of skin around his eyes and mouth. Her close examination trailed along his lean cheek to his neck and shoulder, then down the length of his arm to the strong, tan hands holding the r
eins.

  When her eyes returned to Caleb's face, she found him staring back at her. Rebecca felt an overwhelming urge to turn away but took a deep breath and held his gaze.

  Caleb turned away first, regarding the road ahead. Rebecca sighed and looked at the flowers in her lap. A tiny black bug crawled along one of the petals. She watched it for a moment before holding the cluster over the side of the wagon and shaking vigorously, hoping to dislodge any remaining residents of the insect persuasion.

  As Caleb drove down the main street of town, Rebecca kept her eyes closed, praying for the fewest number of people possible to spot her in the presence of Leavenworth's wealthiest—and most notorious—bachelor.

  She let out a breath when they reached her house. Feeling finally safe, Rebecca let Caleb escort her onto the porch, expecting him to say a polite farewell and leave. Instead, as she reached for the doorknob, Caleb took her wrist, his thumb stroking the palm of her hand. Rebecca watched the circular motion, not daring to breathe.

  "I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon."

  Rebecca nodded, her mouth too cottony for speech.

  "I had a nice time, too."

  She stood silently, mesmerized by his soft voice and touch. Caleb brought a finger up under her chin, forcing her face up to his. Without word or warning, his mouth lowered, brushing her lips tenderly. His warm breath caressed her cheek, causing her to moan low in her throat.

  Rebecca felt Caleb's hand travel along her arm to the nape of her neck, his fingers twisting in her hair. Of its own accord, her body swayed toward his, one palm pressed against the wall of his chest. He nudged her upper lip, urging her mouth open. The feel of his hot, moist tongue against her own shot shock waves of indescribable pleasure through her limbs.

  Not wanting it to stop, yet knowing she couldn't allow it to continue, Rebecca reached out a hand, fumbling for the door handle. She leaned back and turned the knob, effectively breaking Caleb's embrace by practically falling into the house.

  For a moment, Rebecca simply stood looking at Caleb. Surprise widened his hazel eyes, his broad chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Rebecca opened her mouth to say something, but no words came to mind. She pushed the door closed, leaning against it for support as her weakened body slid to the floor.

  Chapter Six

  Caleb blinked at the thick wooden portal as it swung closed in his face, wishing he could see through the pink-and-white flowered curtain that decorated the glass from the inside. He thought about pounding on the door and insisting Rebecca let him in but decided he would get further if he flapped his arms to fly across town.

  "Of all the...” Caleb's words tangled together as he stomped down Rebecca's porch steps to the wagon. He took up the reins and clucked the horses into motion.

  "Miss Leslie.” Rebecca stepped back to allow entrance to Sabrina and her layers of fluffy skirts and petticoats.

  "I hope you don't mind my dropping in. I know it's late, but I must have a new gown immediately."

  "Of course."

  When Rebecca first heard the knock, she thought that Caleb might have returned. The possibility both frightened and excited her. Instead, she opened the door to find his mistress on her porch.

  A pinch of pain tightened her belly. After the picnic, Caleb's pleasant joking, and that kiss. Rebecca had let her mind wander. Obviously it had wandered far enough for her to forget that Caleb had another woman on hand to fulfill all his wants and needs.

  She should have known that the kiss meant much less to Caleb than it had to her. Not that she'd had any silly illusions. A kiss was a kiss, and no matter who happened to be behind it—even the darkly handsome Caleb Adams—it did not change Rebecca's mind about men. She still had no intention of ever getting involved with one.

  Rebecca felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, remembering her intense physical reaction to Caleb's touch. His mouth had made her forget herself, and she didn't think the tingling in her breasts or other extremities had been imagined. If a kiss could cause those kinds of sensations, she wondered what additional touches and tastes might do.

  She'd known the facts of life for a very long time and had never been the least interested in participating.

  Until this afternoon.

  Something about the way Caleb's tongue had brushed her own had made her intensely curious about the rest. What would it feel like to let Caleb run his hands over her naked flesh?

  She shivered and shook herself back to reality. She knew better than to start imagining such things. Those thoughts would only lead her astray and further down the path of her mother.

  "Could I offer you a cup of tea?” Rebecca asked, moving away from Sabrina to regain her composure.

  "That would be lovely. But none of that wretched cinnamon swill."

  Rebecca stopped in her tracks, reminding herself that business was business and not everyone was as fond of her cinnamon-stick tea as she. Tastes differed. And some people have no taste at all, she thought with a glance at Sabrina's indecently low-cut bodice.

  "What kind of gown do you have in mind this time?” she inquired, setting two cups and saucers on the table in front of the settee.

  After Sabrina's narration. Rebecca cleared her throat. She didn't want to step on anyone's toes, but she was certain Caleb would not appreciate paying for the gown Sabrina had just described, which would cost even more than the last.

  "Miss Leslie, I may be out of place by saying this, but I'm not sure Mr. Adams will pay for such an elaborate outfit. He argued over the cost of the last gown, and I really have no desire to go another round with him. Have you cleared this with him?"

  Sabrina's face turned red, her cheeks puffing up in indignation. “You're right, Rebecca, you have overstepped your bounds. It's not necessary for me to ask Caleb's permission for anything. Caleb takes care of all of my needs. And in return"—Sabrina's lips curved up in a smile, and she said the words very slowly—" I take care of his."

  Rebecca understood Sabrina's point perfectly. “I apologize. I'll start on the gown right away."

  "Good."

  "What happened to Caleb this afternoon?"

  Megan lifted her head and set her fork alongside her plate. “What do you mean?” she asked her father.

  "He stomped into the Express in an even fouler mood than he's been in since we got word you'd run away. I thought it would have passed by now.” Holbrook took a bite of roast beef smothered in thick gravy.

  "Oh, Caleb's realized I'll be staying for a while. But I don't think my behavior is the cause of his dark mood."

  "If it's not, then what is?"

  Megan smiled, twisting the brown cloth napkin in her hands. “Not what, Papa, who."

  "Who, then? Megan, what in tarnation is going on?"

  "You know Rebecca, don't you? The seamstress in town?"

  "Know her? Why, I'm the fellow who found her when she stowed away on one of my stages. Lucky thing Octavia Fitzgerald was there, or I'd have turned her in to the law."

  "Rebecca stowed away on one of your stagecoaches?"

  "Of course. That's how she came to live in Leavenworth. Nobody knows where she came from—girl doesn't talk much about her past. I don't think even Widow Fitzgerald ever knew the whole of it, and she was like a mother to that child. More than ten years, it's been now. Curse it, Megan, you got me all off track. What does Rebecca have to do with anything?"

  "I think Caleb is in love with her."

  "In love with her? Why, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You've got to stop reading those penny dreadfuls, child. Caleb has never been in love with a woman in his life. I'd sure like to see that boy settle down, but I doubt it will happen before I'm dead and buried. And that woman he's keeping in town, why—” Holbrook's face flushed, and he cleared his throat.

  Megan chuckled at his obvious discomfort. “It's all right, Papa. I'm sixteen, remember? I know all about Sabrina."

  "When did you find out? If Caleb's been filling your head with ideas ... I
'm still big enough to take him out back of the woodshed, even if he has seen purty near thirty-one summers. About time I had a word with him about that kept woman, too."

  "Don't get yourself all worked up, Papa. Caleb hasn't been telling me anything. I just know, that's all. People talk, and it's amazing what you can hear when you eavesdrop."

  "Megan Beatrice Adams, who brought you up to listen in on private conversations?"

  Megan's nose crinkled at the sound of her middle name being used. “Mother. Now, hush, Papa, and let me finish."

  Megan pushed the wrinkled napkin aside and took a sip of water before starting her story. “When Caleb took me to Rebecca for dresses, he stayed the whole time—three hours. And you know how easily Caleb gets bored. I paid close attention to the way he smiled every time Rebecca laughed. And, Papa, he was polite. After three hours of listening to women talk about fashions and measurements, Caleb was still polite. Well, that did it. I'm just positive that he's in love with her.

  "So when Rebecca showed up this afternoon for a last-minute fitting of the dresses she's making for me, I took it as a sign from God. Don't laugh, Papa.” Megan stuck out her bottom lip in a slight pout. “How else would you explain the fact that Rebecca came the exact morning Caleb stayed home from work to take me on a picnic? It was meant to be, Papa, there's no denying it."

  She shifted anxiously in her seat. “Anyway, I talked Rebecca into going with us. It was rather difficult. I practically had to drag her. Then, while I was in the barn watching Frank hitch up the team, I overheard Caleb and Rebecca's conversation. They were dreadfully sharp-tongued. Isn't it wonderful?"

  "What's so wonderful about it? It sounds like neither of them can stand the other's company."

  "Oh, posh.” Megan waved a hand at the ludicrous idea. “They love to argue—that's the one thing they have in common. It's when they fight that they're most attracted."

  Holbrook's cheeks reddened. “You're just a child. How do you know of such things?"

  "Papa, please.” Megan rolled her eyes. “These are the eighties. Women are becoming more independent and knowledgeable at a much earlier age."