by Jo Noelle
“It’s hard to imagine that this warm water is only a couple of miles from our little town.” Clara was seated on a bench carved into a rock, her head leaning against the side. Her eyes were closed. She wouldn’t see him admiring at her beauty. Her skin was as smooth as fine silk, and her lips had a natural rose color. She’d taken her hair down. The long blonde tresses hung down her shoulders, chest, and back, the bottom tips floating in the water around her.
She might have the right idea. He should close his eyes, too. After several moments, a wave of hot water splashed over his face. Sputtering, he sat up and looked at Clara. She was still resting against the rocks as before. Then she opened one eye. “Are you all right, Bernard?”
Her voice sounded a little too concerned, a little too sweet. Oh, she was guilty. He was sure of it.
Large snowflakes drifted lazily around them. He saw a small cap of snow on Clara’s head. She likely didn’t even know it was there. “I’m fine.” He scooted slowly toward her. “I wonder if you know . . .” Both of her eyes opened and watched him as he continued closer. “. . . that right on the top . . .” Her lips parted. “. . . of your head . . . ” He reached up. “. . . is a little hat of snow.” He grabbed the snow and made a ball to show her.
She laughed. “I had no idea. It’s so comfortable in here.” Her legs stretched out, and her toes peeked above the water line. “I could stay all day.”
“You’d likely become a prune from head to toe in all those hours. We’ll have to make plans to come here often, though. It might make it easier to get through the winter.”
“I’d like that.” Again, her voice was too sweet. Suddenly, she skimmed her hands across the water, splashing Bernard.
He retaliated in kind. The water war went on for some time before they settled together on a rock. Bernard kicked his feet at the water’s surface, and Clara did too. The droplets cascaded back down, sparkling from occasional sunlight.
“May I buy you dinner in the lodge before we catch the next train to Creede?” he asked.
“You may. I’ll go change.”
Although she didn’t tell him to turn his back, he assumed it was implied and did so. The cabin door sounded as she shut it, and Bernard sank under the water briefly. The water felt especially warm on his ears. When he rose back up, he pushed the water from his hair and face, blowing out a big breath. They were becoming more at ease with each other. That had to be a good thing.
Some minutes later, Clara leaned out the door. “Your turn.”
Bernard entered the cabin while Clara stood at the back, facing away. He grabbed his clothes, laying them close to the wood stove before he began changing. He donned dry drawers and his pants.
His shirt had been a little too close to the fire when he picked it up. “Ow” The buttons were especially warm.
Clara turned toward him. Her eyes locked with his. Then her gaze wandered slowly across his bare chest. She gasped and looked back at his eyes, then chuckled and turned around. “I thought you said ‘now.’” She still laughed. “Sorry.”
He couldn’t say that he was.
He finished quickly. “This time I’m dressed.”
“Are you sure?” she asked in a teasing voice. “Because I thought that before.” She didn’t wait for his answer but pivoted and smiled at him.
Clara pulled her hair into a rope and began turning it into a bun at the back of her head. Bernard watched in wonder at the precision. There was something fascinating about watching a woman get dressed for others to see her. Then she smoothed her hand over her head, finding chunks of hair jutting out. She tried again with the same result.
“May I help you?” Bernard asked. Clara nodded and turned her back as he stepped up to her.
He ran his fingers through her still-damp hair, easing out the tangled parts. “Done,” he said, placing the twist of hair in her reaching hand.
He helped her with her coat, and they returned to the lodge to eat and await the train. When they walked toward the train, Clara slipped a little on the wet boards. Bernard’s arm went around her waist to steady her. As he was going to withdraw it, Clara’s hand reached across her body and held his in place. Her smile lit explosives in his chest. He felt intense satisfaction at having her beside him. He believed marriage agreed with him.
Chapter 8
Clara
That night, they were halfway through the book of poems when they turned in for bed. She stopped on the second stair with just the toes of one foot on the third. A debate had been running through her mind. Did she dare to truly become his wife? Her heart screamed yes, but her head refused just as strongly. She wished she was free to love Bernard. She supposed she was, in a way. They were married after all, but that freedom had too high a cost. She wouldn’t be the instrument of suffering for Bernard. She refused to return grief to the man who had given her so much.
“Goodnight,” she said over her shoulder. Her foot slid fully onto the stair, and she continued her climb.
She woke after midnight. Instead of counting sheep to get tired, she found herself listing Bernard’s good qualities. He was brave, busting into the courtroom and offering for her. He listened to her—like when she told him she needed to work still. He wanted to find things to please her. He was patient and kind. Not only helping to feed the “fluffy beasties,” as he called them, but petting and cuddling them.
As the days since their marriage had passed, it had become easier to live with him. At first, she was just uncomfortable being there. That was no longer true. Now she enjoyed his company. More than that, she enjoyed him.
Her bedroom felt chilled. The stove in the room below them must have gone out. She decided she’d make them some quilts after she finished the pillows. Clara slipped out of bed. Oh, so cold. It felt like winter was blowing in that very night. They’d have to start lighting fires in the bedrooms soon. She pulled up her socks and tiptoed down the stairs.
Her hand hovered over the stove. It was still hot, but the fire had gone out. She went to the back stoop to get more coal and some wood to start it up again. Soon, it fanned back to life. Since she was up, and very cold, she decided to warm a pot for tea after feeding the kittens again. The crackling of wood burning was the only sound in the house when she returned to the kitchen.
It felt good to stand near the heat radiating from the stove. Even as her front warmed, her back chilled. It would take some time for the room to feel comfortable again. She pivoted, being careful, pulling her gown to the front to keep it from the stove. She probably should have grabbed a blanket off her bed before she came down.
When she turned back around, she saw puffs of steam rising from the kettle and Bernard, stepping down the last stair, wearing his housecoat. His hair was disheveled, and his ear was a little red where he might have been lying on his arm. In some ways, he looked like a kid just waking, but in other ways, definitely not.
“It’s a particularly cold night.” Bernard’s voice was deep and sultry. His eyes were bright, and a smile curved his lips. She doubted that she was mistaking his appreciation of her. Chills raced from head to toe and back again that had nothing to do with temperature.
“Yes. My room was a bit cold.” Clara turned to fully face him. His shoulders were broad under the robe tied loosely at his hips.
He continued walking slowly, carefully toward her. “I came downstairs to check the stove.” He stared into her eyes, occasionally glancing at her lips.
Her pulse raced. “I was going to have some tea.” Her chest rose and fell as her attraction to him increased. Every inch he neared heightened her anticipation. “Would you like some?” She lifted the kettle from the stove.
When he stood before her, his hand raised slowly to her braid that lay across her shoulder and hung down in front. She held her breath, waiting for his touch.
“Yes, I believe I would,” he whispered, taking the kettle and setting it aside.
Her gown was thin, and his fingers against her collarbone warmed right through. Hi
s hand ran down the length of the braid and lingered without untying the bow. Clara didn’t mind at all. She hoped his touch would warm the rest of her. It did seem as if it could ignite her flesh and melt her bones at any moment.
Then his other hand brushed against hers, tickling lines over her skin. She closed her eyes to just feel. The sensation traveled in curves and loops over her forearm and up to her shoulder, then back down again.
His hands moved from her arms to her shoulders and neck and then to her back. Chills scattered across her scalp and down her back. She nestled into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her palms up and down his back. She felt she could not get close enough.
Just once, she wanted to be held and cherished by this wonderful man. She stretched up to her toes and pressed her lips to his. Not a gentle kiss but one that had been held back and burst through with all the passion and love she wished to give.
His mouth moved with hers. The other kisses they’d shared were nothing to these. He’d held back. These were life and air.
When their lips parted momentarily, Clara said, “Shall we drink our tea upstairs?” She felt breathless and barely pushed the words out.
As she finished her question, Bernard swooped her into his arms and began up the stairs. She kissed his neck and ran her fingers down his chest. He had to know how she felt. It had been growing for some time, but she’d never spoken up and said it. She loved him. With all her heart, she loved him. She tightened her arms around his neck and stretched up to whisper in his ear. “I love you, Bernard.”
His face turned to hers, and his mouth covered hers. He set her on his bed and slid in beside her. His hand caressed her shoulder and down her arm, then rested on her hip. “I love you, Clara.” He kissed her again. “I love you.”
She was glad he repeated the words. At first, she’d wondered if she’d really heard them. “I love you, Bernard.”
Wonder and curiosity and acceptance filled her night while in Bernard’s arms. How had she not known the pleasure of being a couple before? Bernard proved that he wanted her happiness, and she gave him the gift back.
Clara woke with bright, clear morning light streaming between the curtains. Light! She sat straight up. She’d be late—well, she was already very late for work. She pulled her nightgown on and rushed to the door. As she opened it, Bernard was taking the last couple of steps up the stairs.
“I brought us slices of cream cake for breakfast.” His smile faded when he looked into her expression.
“I’m late.”
“It’s okay. I saw Willie headed to work a couple of hours ago and asked him to deliver a message to Millie and Edwin, letting them know I needed you at home for a bit. We’ll get you there this morning.”
Clara was relieved and turned back around toward the bedroom.
“Let’s have some breakfast together.”
Clara backtracked as Bernard advanced with a small plate in each hand.
“May I help you carry that?” Clara realized that the light shining through the window behind her would make her thin nightdress reveal her silhouette beneath. Her chest burned with excitement at the smile on her husband’s face.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ll just follow you.”
Clara turned around and reentered the bedroom. “Might we have some tea with that cake?” She liked that they had a special language between them.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The cake could wait.
A couple of hours later, but technically still morning, Clara followed Bernard across the street as his steps cleared a way in the freshly fallen snow. She walked through the kitchen door of Hearth and Home with Bernard right behind her. Edwin’s sisters were setting up for the midday meal. Isla and Aileen were busy packing the bagged meals for the next rush.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Clara called to the McRae women.
“Not a worry at all,” Isla said. “We’re glad to have the extra hours of work.”
Clara hung her coat and scarf on a nail and tucked her gloves inside her pockets. She pulled an apron around her. As she tied it, she heard Edwin’s younger sister.
“Would you like to place an order, Mr. Newell?” Rhona asked.
“No, thank you. I’ll wait for lunch. I just had cake and tea.”
Rhona turned back to her work, and Bernard grinned mischievously at Clara. She dropped her head and softly giggled.
The workday continued as any normal day. It seemed that Bernard had a full list of clients. Clara had beds to make and tables to clean. It was as if the world was going along just the same, but she knew it wasn’t the same at all. For all the sorrow she had in the past, she had equal measures of happiness now, and it was all because of her new husband. Many times that day, she paused to thank the Lord for Bernard.
After work, Bernard offered her his arm but led her out the front door instead of the kitchen door as usual. “Would you take a short drive with me, Mrs. Newell?” He walked at an angle to cross Main Street, heading toward the livery.
“I’d love to. Where are we going?”
“McFly’s.” He winked at her.
She tightened her arm around his and leaned close. “I’ve seen it, but I’ve never been there.” The hothouse wasn’t far from the restaurant, and it was so sweet that Bernard would drive her there instead of having her walk. More and more, she believed he truly would be a loving husband. She’d felt more love now after being with him for only a couple of weeks than she had at any time in her life.
When they entered the greenhouse, Clara gasped a little. “I had no idea there would be so many flowers in bloom.”
“Pick some for us to take home to enjoy,” Bernard said.
They walked around with Mr. McFly as he told them about the dahlias, sweet Williams, poppies, black-eyed Susans, and other plants. At the end of the tour, Clara had to choose. She scanned over the pots of flowers, and the bright orange blooms near the front caught her attention.
“May I have the orange mums?” she asked Bernard.
“As many as you want,” he replied.
They walked to the table, and Clara looked over the potted plants. “May I buy the pot, or do I just get the cut flowers?”
“Either one, I suppose,” Bernard replied.
“Thank you.” She turned to Mr. McFly. “I’ll take this one.” She gestured to the pot with the least number of blooms, and Mr. McFly picked it up.
“I’ll go put this in a box for you to carry it home.”
When Clara noticed the confused look on Barnard’s face, she said, “That plant is full of hope. I know the color because of the few blooms that are open, but there are buds all over it, so there are many yet to burst.” She felt a little shy about telling him why she chose it. It seemed so silly, but she continued anyway. “It’s like our marriage. There are only a few blooms, but I thought those were like the kindness from you that started our marriage. Now, there’s a lot of hope going forward. I can hardly wait to see what opens up for us.” Her cheeks warmed, and she knew she must be blushing.
His hand cupped her jaw and his thumb brushed across her lips. Then he smiled at her. “You’re right, Clara. It’s the perfect plant. I can’t wait to see what blooms, too.”
They drove the wagon back to Otto’s livery, then started walking home. Bernard skidded to a stop and hustled them to the side of the street between the Jacksons’ mercantile and Marshal KC’s office.
Her heart raced to see Bernard’s expression become a hardened mask. When she tried to look around the corner to see what had him on edge, he pushed her back as if to shelter her, but peeked around the corner.
Chapter 9
Bernard
“Hold this.” Bernard pushed the potted plant toward Clara. It wasn’t gentlemanly to have her carry it, but he needed his hands free. What he’d seen around the corner worried him. Jess was standing outside the bank, and this time he wasn’t alone. Bernard’s Uncle Rex was on one side of him. As the two men talked, a huge man with
long brown hair, younger than Jess by at least ten years, came out of Hearth and Home, crossed the street, and joined them.
Bernard had been wary of Jess hanging around Creede. He knew his brother was up to something. Now, there were two more from the family, confirming to him that trouble was brewing. He wished he was close enough to hear their conversation.
Creede Bank had closed down for the evening. They seemed to be talking on the boardwalk, but their little group moved to the corner of the building and continued to chat. Then they walked casually to the other corner and stood and talked. To passersby, it probably looked innocent, but with Jess and Rex involved, it most definitely wasn’t. Bernard wondered what they found so interesting about the exterior walls of the bank. If he had to venture a guess, he’d say the bank needed to be put on notice. He’d meet with Byron Cromwell in the morning.
The three men must have seen whatever they were interested in because they began walking away but in the direction of where Bernard and Clara were hidden. Bernard moved flat against the side of the marshal’s office and noticed that Clara was already squatting behind a short stack of wooden boxes. He wished the sky was darker. It was only dusk, but Clara was hard to see in her dark dress and in heavy shadow. Bernard hoped his black suit did the same for him.
He pushed his coat behind him, leaving the front open for access to his guns. There was plenty of bad blood between him and his family. There was no doubt in his mind that they would pull a gun on him even if not provoked.
He stilled as he heard their footsteps approach, the spurs on their boots jingling. He glanced quickly toward Clara to make sure she was still hidden and saw that her eyes were wide with fear. He’d never wanted to cause his wife fear. Maybe that’s why he never considered having one. He knew if he’d ever had children, they would have been pulled into the blood and violence that were as much his last name as Newell—it defined their family.
The men walked past slowly, and Bernard held his breath, his senses heightened. He kept his eyes open and his hands on the pistol butts at his side. He understood for a moment the fiercely protective emotions his father must have had for his family. But only for a minute. That was as much as he could understand. Bernard also knew that his father was a bully and a criminal. He wouldn’t give these men a chance to draw against him while his wife was there. He keep his hands on his guns, and if he needed to, he would pull the trigger faster than they could draw. He would protect Clara.