The Widow's Touch (A Whimsical Select Romance Novella)

by Tamara Ternie

  Eloda heard the door open and a drift of aroma from his tobacco rushed her senses. Each time she had seen him, he carried the spicy fragrance on his clothing and person, and she liked it.

  “You all settled in?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, and when he added nothing further, she followed it by saying, “Good night, Jack.”

  He lowered the lamp’s flame and only slight flickers of light danced within her cell. After some time had passed, Eloda peeked around the sheets that hung against the bars and she looked for him. He stood near the alcove that housed his cot and his figure silhouetted against the stone wall. In silence, he remained unmoved for many minutes. Eloda stayed deathly still and quiet and he must have thought her asleep. When he finally stirred, she saw him remove his jacket and then he began the task of unbuttoning his shirt. She realized that no amount of darkness could conceal the full masculine body he beheld beneath. His shoulders were broad and when he moved toward his desk, a glimmer of light emphasized each well-developed ripple that was formed perfectly on his chest and stomach. Heat rose within her and she inadvertently gasped by the sheer splendor of him. He slowly turned and looked toward the sheets that draped loosely on her cell. Embarrassed, Eloda quickly laid her head back onto her pillow. She closed her eyes and desperately tried, without success, to remove the improper images and thoughts that formed in her mind. She was bewildered by the maze of new sensations that had stayed quiet until that moment of seeing him. She had never longed for a man’s touch, but the considerations that arose made her near to asking –no, begging –for him to take her into his arms.

  But she didn’t.

  “Are you all right,” he loudly whispered, his tone deep and pleasant.

  Eloda didn’t reply and hoped he would assume she was asleep. She wasn’t sure if she had done so for the purpose of protecting her virtue against her desire’s will or if it was with hope he’d continue undressing and reveal more. Oh, she hated how her thoughts made her feel so pathetic. She wondered if the feelings that erupted within her were the same that her husbands had felt when they wooed her into bed. She nearly felt apologetic for showing them such disinterest in the lover’s bed, as Jack was showing her while she laid there in need of his touch.

  She heard the snaps of his boots as they tapped against the floor. He was walking towards her and she pretended that she was asleep, but curiosity forced her to slightly open one eye. He leaned against the inside opening of her cell door, his back turned against her.

  “I know you’re awake,” he said softly. “Your breaths are way too erratic to be sleeping.”

  She heard the smile in his voice and she blushed. Looking at the muscular bulges upon his back that tapered to a fit, narrowed waist nearly caused her undoing. She wondered if he had any idea what he was doing to her by standing there so close, so bare. Yearnings that had built up from years of willful neglect were to blame, she reckoned. Yet she was almighty mindful of it right then and it sought to be released.

  “Is it safe to turn around or are you indecent?” he asked.

  Eloda sat up and wrapped the wool blanket over her shoulders and properly covered herself. She had a thought to show no modesty at all and entice him into wanting her, but she needed to show more propriety than that, even though her body heated with need for him to take her.

  “I’m decent,” she finally replied, and Jack turned around. The dim light haloed around him and he was nearer to perfection than anything or anyone she’d ever seen.

  “You can’t sleep?” he asked. Jack raised his hand and showed her the canvases and paints that he had brought in from the wagon, and he sat them in the corner of her cell.

  She nodded her head and smiled, worried that her voice would fail her if she tried to speak.

  “Are you still fretting over seeing the gallows being built? Is that why you can’t sleep?” He walked closer and pointed toward the other side of the cot. He silently sought her permission to sit and she quickly provided him an inviting wave towards the end of the bed.

  “Somewhat, but not about the dying part,” she said honestly. “If it did come to my being hanged, I’d go without a struggle,” she assured. “But I’m more worried about not dying straight away.”

  Jack nodded his head. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and considering his profession she suspected he had seen the dreadful spectacle more times than most.

  “I wouldn’t want to spend my last five minutes of life strangling to death,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s what I greatly fear more than anything.”

  He reached for her hand and a shiver coursed so fiercely within her that she visible trembled. His touch was soft and warm and he tenderly stroked her palm with the tips of his fingers. She wanted to press her hands against his bare chest and brush her hands along the smooth mountainous muscles that taunted her entire being. Images of him kissing, touching, and taking her there on the cot worked her into a frenzy. She tightly squeezed the blanket with her free hand and cursed inwardly at her unseemly musings of him.

  “I’ll be gone for a while tomorrow,” he said. “Frank will be staying with you until I get back.” Jack continued to absently caress her hand. “I’ve never been keen on the idea of women being hanged, especially when I’m doubtful of their guilt,” he further explained.

  “Is it your plan to leave and burn down their newly built gallows, Sheriff?” she asked with a smile.

  “That’s a thought,” he said, and he appeared to be in serious consideration of the option. “I plan to go back to your house and see if there’s something that may clear you.” He looked her in the eyes and studied her carefully. “You employ more servants inside your home than any two people need, Eloda. I’m hard pressed to believe that no one heard or saw something.”

  “They didn’t,” she assured. “It’s best you just mind your own and let them mind theirs,” she said and turned away from his examining gaze.

  “Clearing your name or seeing justice served is my business, Eloda.” He released her hand and eyed her suspiciously. “Are you worried they’re going to talk?” When she didn’t say anything, he turned and grasped her gently by the shoulders and made her look at him. “What are you hiding?” he pleaded, almost desperate for her cooperation.

  Apprehension quickly built within her. She didn’t want to lie to him, but he was going to ruin everything. “Those in my employ have no information for you to gain as there is no information to be had.”

  Eloda realized how close he was to her. He was a breath’s reach from her face and an urge to place her mouth on his full lips was nearly her undoing. She again subdued the impulse to reach out and stroke the expanse of his chest. The physique he beheld was surely only reserved for the Greek gods she had read about. Eloda believed he sensed her contemplations when he gazed down and searched her mouth with his eyes. He leaned into her and his lips lingered dangerously close to hers. The aroma of spice overtook her senses and she wanted to be completely engulfed and protected within his arms. When his lips slightly grazed against hers, Jack hesitated and lowered his head. He cursed under his breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed out heavily and pulled away from her. “This isn’t something either of us should be considering. Not now.”

  Eloda didn’t want to stop. Not when he was so close to bringing out passions within her that she never thought existed. She yearned to know how it felt to be bedded when she was an eager participant. The craving to find out overshadowed her sense of propriety. Aside from that, if the town had their way, she’d be hanged soon. And since a notion of passion had been sparked within her for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to die without experiencing love in all its splendid glory.

  “Please,” she heard leave her lips, and she hated herself for the desperation that laced her tone.

  He cupped her cheek with his palm and Eloda thought he looked as dejected as she felt. There was a cloud of uncertainty that hung dark and thick between them and prevented him from ta
king her into his arms. And again, she respected him for his righteousness. How could she expect the sheriff to want a woman who may very well be a murderess?

  “Get some sleep,” he whispered, and his breaths came fast and erratic.

  The fiery touch of his hand matched the heat that rose within her entire body. She watched as several emotions crossed his face and she became hopeful that he’d change his mind. But as quick as the thought came to her, her released her and Jack walked to the cell’s doorway.

  “Sleep well, Eloda,” he finally said and walked away.

  She fell back onto the cot and released a frustrating growl. It was bad enough that she was left wanting, but worse, she allowed Jack Finley to gain all the control. She closed her eyes and wondered how she let that happen. More importantly, she needed to consider whether she’d allow him to keep it. Yet with the way Jack Finley made her feel inside and out—soft, weak, and outright foolish—Eloda wasn’t sure she had the willpower or inclination to stop him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You failed to mention that you have another living husband,” Jack said when he burst through the office door. He slammed it shut so hard that even Frank jumped out of his seat.

  “Oh my, you’re not referring to my Mr. Kimble are you? I was fairly positive he died that second time!” she exclaimed. She walked to the edge of her cell and pressed her face between the cold iron bars.

  “Of course not,” he said exasperated. He looked at Frank and narrowed his eyes. “Why is she locked in there?”

  “It’s a jailhouse, Jack. She’s a prisoner. Seemed appropriate,” he replied in a slow, bored tone. Frank pulled out a drawer that kept the large iron ring of keys and sauntered over to her cell. Rolling his eyes, he placed the key inside the lock and set Eloda free.

  “If Mister Kimble didn’t cheat death again, then whom are you referring to?” she asked as she stepped out of her cell and approached him. “I have no other husbands than those I have already told you about, and I’m quite certain all the others are dead.”

  “Charles McCrady.” He crossed his arms and waited for her reply.

  “Charlie!” she said and laughed.

  “It’s not funny, Eloda.” He stared down at her. “He’s in town and making accusations that won’t fare well for you.”

  “What possible stories can he be telling? I haven’t seen Charlie since we were children. And I can assure you, I wouldn’t have ever married that man.” The smile remained on her face even though Jack scowled at her. She almost ventured to say he acted jealous.

  “According to him, you were married when you were fifteen.”

  “It wasn’t a real marriage,” she said amused. “I haven’t a clue what would make him say such lies. But he had always been a peculiar sort so I can’t say I’m overly surprised,” she added.

  “Well, according to him, you were. More than that, he claims you tried to kill him by pushing him down steps. The prosecution has him listed as a witness to give his account of it.” He eyed her warily. “Is there any truth in what he says, Eloda?”

  “Yes,” she quietly admitted after a few moments passed. She no longer found the conversation humorous. Jack had accomplished his task and her attention was fairly aroused. “But surely not the way he is making it sound.” She stepped closer to Jack and reached out to touch his arm, but he shrugged her away and recoiled at her gesture. The closeness and affection he displayed the night before was long forgotten in his eyes.

  “Did you or did you not try to kill him?” he demanded.

  She bit at her lip with vexation but didn't dare reply. No matter how she answered, it’d not bode well for her. She was sure of it.

  “Tell me,” he nearly shouted.

  “I didn’t,” she gritted between her teeth. “He had made an unwelcomed advance toward me and I pushed him away.”

  “And that’s all?” he asked. He rested his hands on his hips and doubt washed over his face.

  She hesitated before she added, “When I pushed him away it was just unfortunate that he was standing near stairs.”

  “So, you did push him down steps,” he confirmed. He raised his arms into the air with frustration.

  “It wasn’t my intention, but yes, I pushed him down steps. But that was almost fifteen years ago, Jack,” she pleaded, and hoped for his understanding.

  “And yet you’re being accused of the same deed now, except this time you were successful.” He removed his hat and angrily tossed it onto his desk and only barely missed Frank when it whirred in the front of his face.

  “If that’s what you want to believe, Sheriff, then that’s your right.” She glowered at him, and when he didn’t seem the slightest bit apologetic, Eloda walked inside her cell and slammed the door shut. Pulling the sheets closed, she remained hidden and she was glad for it. She thought she might cry and the last thing she wanted was Jack Finley seeing her tears.

  “Frank, go fetch Charles McCrady and bring him here,” Jack ordered. “You’ll probably find him in the saloon.”

  “Why?” Eloda demanded as she snapped the sheet aside.

  “Because there may be more to knowing than what you are telling,” he countered back at her.

  “I’ll be back,” Frank mumbled before he closed the door behind him.

  “And then what, Jack?” she asked as she peeked through the bars. “If you believe I tried to kill him as well you’ll hang me twice?”

  “No,” he said, and his tone softened. “I want to know the truth.” He shook his head. “I might have made a mistake about you, Eloda. I saw an attractive woman who appeared forthright and honest with herself and those around her. It was hard for me to believe that same person was capable of lying about murder. And with the town unfairly against you, I let it sway my opinions. So I chose to believe you.” He shrugged off his sack coat and sat down in his chair. He rolled up his sleeves and raked both his hands through his black mass of hair and balled the locks up into his hands. He sighed heavily before saying, “I think it’s time I consider the possibility you may be guilty.”

  His words stung worse than any amount of pain he could have physically inflicted. He was nearly the only ally she had in town. More than that, he was someone she had hoped would provide support and comfort, as he had already delivered. Now she had no one. Eloda was too hurt to argue with him. Even if she had the gumption to do so, she wasn’t sure it’d work in her favor. Jack’s trip to her home earlier that day may have produced more evidence against her than he was willing or able to share. Eloda released the makeshift curtain she had opened to view him and it quietly fell and shielded her from his sight. She sat on the cot and tears silently trickled down her cheeks. Guilt for not being able to tell him the entire truth was lying like lead heavily against her heart.

  “He was on his way here to see the prisoner,” Frank said when Eloda heard the door squeak open. She stood up and swiped her tears with the edge of her sleeves.

  “How do you do, Sheriff?” the other man’s voice buoyantly called out.

  “Charlie,” she whispered under her breath, annoyed. She peeped out the curtain and saw him. He hadn’t changed overly much in the years that had lapsed. He was still a handsome man who donned blonde hair and crystal light green eyes, and a strong muscular build that once matched the strength of an ox.

  “Is that you, Eloda Mae?” the man happily called out from the other side of her privacy curtain.

  Eloda brushed the sheet aside and looked at him with her hand on her hip. “Charlie McCrady,” she returned. Her tone was flat although she was more than a little irritated. “Long time since you’ve been back in these parts.”

  “Sure has, but you’re just as pretty as the day I left,” he said and grinned wide.

  “And you’re just as much as a horse’s ass, Charlie McCrady,” she bit out to the man who reeked of stale ale and smoke. Eloda then reached through the bars and surprised him with a hard slap across his face.

  “Good to see you haven’t lost your fe
istiness.” He laughed and rubbed his hand over the bright red handprint she placed on his face. He backed away from the iron bars, just barely out of her reach when she raised her hand to strike again. He darted his head backward and forward in her direction and teased her.

  But his laughter died when Eloda came out of her unlocked cell.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked, and McCrady stumbled on his feet when he quickly tried to back away from her. He looked at the sheriff and deputy. They stood with their arms crossed near the desk, and McCrady looked overly anxious. “You don’t have her locked up?” he yelled.

  “Until now, she hasn’t given me a reason to,” Jack said as he eyed Eloda. He then warned her with a dark stare from across the room. “I’ll handle this,” he said to her.

  “Do you have any papers to prove you were married to Eloda?” Jack asked.

  “No, I do not, but a minister properly performed the ceremony.”

  “That’s a lie, Charles McCrady,” Eloda interjected. “The minister was eleven and it was a boy named Tommy Jameson playing around,” she offered to Jack.

  “Well, a few years later Tommy became Reverend Jameson, an honest to goodness preacher, so it’s my way of thinking that we were married by a true man of the cloth. It’s a legitimate marriage in the eyes of God, Eloda.” McCrady bared a satisfied smile on his face.

  Eloda saw a hint of a grin on Jack’s lips that threatened to release into a full smile. She knew that anyone with the slightest amount of sense, which Charlie severely lacked, wouldn’t give him any amount of serious consideration after meeting him.

  “And what of Eloda pushing you down the steps?” Jack asked as he sat down and leaned back into his chair. He crossed his arms behind his neck, and Jack peered suspiciously at him beneath his furrowed brows.