Carla Kelly (3 page)

She clung to him, gathering as much of him as she could hold and discovered that he was doing that precise thing too, only more gentle about it as he tried not to hurt her shoulder.

“I do not feel comfortable or satisfied or remotely content unless you are right beside me,” he said at last, holding her off a little and then pulling her close again. “Even if you hadn't sent that blamed letter, every single hand on the Double Tipi—and I include the always-forgiving James—would have tossed me on that train anyway.”

It was her turn to pull back. “I am a mess and a ruin.”

He hugged her. “Yeah, I know. Then why on earth can't I keep my hands off you?”

“You're a lunatic?”

“Nope. I am of sound mind and way-too-sound body. Face it, Darling: I love you.”

He kissed her again, then took his hand off her hip. “Oops,” he said. “I'd better slow down. There's no line shack anymore.”

Julia unwound herself from the man she couldn't manage without and sat beside him on her bed. She opened her mouth, and Paul put his fingers over it.

“Don't try to reason with me or think there is anything that will make me love you less.”

“My hair? I don't know what to do. It's so curly.”

He grinned and rubbed his hand in her hair. “It sure is. I'm having a hard time keeping my hands out of it, but maybe that's a better idea than on your hip, eh?”

“My neck, my shoulder. They're so…”

He nuzzled her neck. “I've been wanting to do that for months and months. Tell me when to stop.”

Julia pulled away, unable to help her tears.

“Hey now,” Paul said, serious. “Two days ago, Doc and I were in Gun Barrel with the team to pick up a load of lumber for the house—our house. There was your letter. I read it and got on the train, all in the space of about fifteen minutes, so you have to take me as I am too. Julia, I love you.”

She couldn't help from leaning against him. “Paul, you don't know the extent of my scars. They go…”

“All the way to your waist,” he said simply. “Darling, you wouldn't let go of my hand on that train ride to Cheyenne. You clamped on like rigor mortis when we took you to the Gillespies’. Who do you think got you out of your burned clothing? Emma and I—because you wouldn't let go! I know exactly how extensive those burns are. Funny how it doesn't make any difference to me.”

Her face fiery red, Julia closed her eyes. Paul kissed the top of her head. “I didn't want to tell you, because I knew you'd be embarrassed. Now you know. Julia, those scars don't matter to me. Only to you, I think.” He chuckled. “Quit worrying about them.”

Paul tightened his arm around her and put his lips close to her ear. “‘Way down in the valley where the lily first glows,’ ” he sang softly. “‘Where the wind from the mountain ne'er ruffles the rose, lives sweet Evalina, the dear little dove, the child of the valley, the girl that I love.’ ”

He was starting the chorus when Julia kissed him.

“Either that's my reward, or you wanted to stop the flow,” he said in her ear when he could speak.

“You know,” she said, her voice quiet.

They sat together in silence for a long time. Julia finally gave a shuddering sigh and turned her face into Paul's sleeve. “I won't write another letter like that. I promise.”

“I'm relieved,” he said and kissed her curls again. He sniffed the air. “I like bacon, but I'm putting in a request for cecils in tomato sauce this morning. Your mother said you haven't felt like cooking, but I want cecils.”

Julia pushed the little bundles of meat and onion around in the frying pan. She had tried to convince him to let her get dressed first, but he had merely helped her into her robe again and took her arm as they went downstairs together. She did send him back upstairs for her slippers, while Papa hid behind the
Deseret News
and tried not to laugh.

“Paul wants cecils. It's high time I started cooking again,” Julia said to the wall. “Don't you dare laugh, Papa.”

Paul ate his way steadily through her outpouring of cecils, concluding with a discreet belch. Julia sat beside him and watched him eat, which made him smile. “She does that, you know,” he said to her mother, who nodded.

“How bad is the food on the Double Tipi now?” Julia asked.

“Could be worse,” Paul said as he chased the last bit of cecil with a piece of toast. “My cousin Charlotte from the Fort Washakie Rez is cooking for us.” He caught her skeptical glance. “No fears. She learned to cook at an Indian school in Kansas, and
not
from Little River.”

“But where is she…”

“… living? In a corner of the new tack room.” He smiled. “Blue Corn is already in residence in the old tack room, which means…”

“… winter is here,” Julia finished, a frown on her face. “It's…”

“… early,” Paul said.

“Impressive,” Jed Darling said, pushing back from the kitchen table. “You finish each other's sentences already. It took your mother and me ten years to start doing that. Better marry him, Jules.”

“I think I will, since he probably won't let me do anything else.”

“Dead on.” Paul looked at Mama. “After I take a bath in your wonderful indoor bathroom with hot running water on demand, do you think I could persuade your lovely daughter to take me to—what is that alphabet place?—for some clothes?”

“Oh, but…” Julia began, feeling the familiar fear in her stomach again.

“I also need to at least order an impress-Julia suit, since mine burned up,” he said, still looking at her mother. His voice faltered then. “After all, I lost everything in that fire except my Darling.”

They all sat there, silent. Her eyes brimming again, Julia looked around the table at the people dearest to her in all the world: her mother and father, who went through worse last year with Iris's death; and Mr. Otto, who had dropped everything and came to put the heart back into her, because he was not inclined to forget Mosiah Eighteen. She took Paul's hand.

“It's ZCMI, and yes, I'll… I'll take you there.”

The hardest part was getting on the trolley. Church hadn't been this hard, mainly because she knew everyone in the ward, and they knew what had happened to her. The trolley was filled with strangers.

She tried to hang back. Without breaking his stride, Paul put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the trolley platform. His only comment when they sat down was that she was cutting off the circulation to his fingers.

She knew it wasn't proper, but she leaned close so she could speak in his ear. “They're all staring at me,” she whispered.

“You're wrong,” he whispered back. “I look like a wild man because my hair's too long, and Doc's clothes never did fit. They're wondering what on earth such a pretty lady, neat as a pin, is doing with a Genuine Article.”

She looked out the window. “You're a no hoper.”

“That's supposed to be a revelation?” he asked, which only made her shake her head and loosen her grip a little.

First stop was Papa's barbershop next to ZCMI. “Thank goodness,” Paul said as he sat down. “Now I can read those back issues of
The Police Gazette
that you banned from the ranch house.”

Julia laughed and pointed to the magazine pile. “You're out of luck, cowboy. Just a stack of
Improvement Eras
and
Juvenile Instructors
! This is Utah.”

“I call that free agency and how to enforce it,” he muttered.

He wasn't deceiving her.
And I thought I couldn't love you any more than I loved you before breakfast
, she thought as she took a deep breath and released his hand. “Tough. I'll be next door in Housewares. It's at the back of the store. Look for all the ladies.”

“I swore I'd never go in Housewares again, after that department store in Denver,” he told her, rising as a barber pointed to an empty chair.

“I guess you'll have to force yourself,” she replied. She grinned at him. “Do you think that barber drew the short straw and got you?”

She left the barber shop smiling.

Tidy, shorn, well-groomed, and making Julia's stomach flutter even in Housewares, Paul hesitated at the department entrance, then plunged in with that same resolution she had seen on his face when he shod horses. She put him out of his misery and took his arm, leading him toward Men's Ready-to-Wear.

“You're on your own here, cowboy,” she said. “I know you can't buy a ready-made suit, but you can get everything else. You'll find me in Millinery.” She kissed his cheek when he sighed. “Be brave.”

He was, coming toward her in Millinery an hour later. She waited just outside the department, feeling charitable enough to spare him more hats and ladies. He was dressed in a new shirt, a tie as dignified as one of her father's, wool trousers, and a vest. “I threw away everything except my boots and hat,” he told her. “The suit—it's black—won't be ready for two weeks, so save it for me for Christmas.” He looked over her shoulder at the hats, and his eyes narrowed in a familiar, determined way. “Now
that's
what I like. Julia, I'm going in there. Don't try to prevent me. I insist.”

Not sure whether to laugh or gape, she followed him into Millinery, stopping with him in front of a little feathery hat in handsome bronze tones, perfect for fall.

“That one,” he told her and nodded to the clerk. “You won't scare a single horse, and it'll show off your pretty eyes. That's the one. I can't see your face under that big brimmed thing.”

She hardly breathed as he took off her big hat, the one that hid her wild curls. He gave it a backhanded toss toward Ladies Foundations and set the little hat on her head, tipping it at a rakish angle. “Perfect,” he said, stepping back. “You are the loveliest lady.”

Julia swallowed and pressed her lips tightly together.
I must have been an utter angel in the premortal existence, to deserve this man
, she told herself.
And I thought I couldn't love him any more than I just did in the barbershop
. She took a deep breath and stood still while he whisked out a new handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

They had lunch with Papa at his favorite café, then Paul left her to guard all his purchases while he spent a few minutes with her father in his office in Zions Bank.
I am so vain
, she thought as she sidled toward a teller's booth where she could see her reflection in the glass and the new hat. She turned this way and that, admiring herself.

“I thought you were supposed to guard my jeans, shirts, and drawers over there,” Paul said, coming up quietly behind her. He looked at her reflection too. “And here you are, peacocking in a bank.” His hand went to her waist. “Nice,” was all he said, but it was enough.

She started toward the trolley stop when they left the bank, but Paul took her hand. “One more store, Darling,” he told her. “I know you're starting to droop, but I'm only going to be here three days, and this won't wait.”

Her breath started to come in gasps when he stopped in front of a red brick building with Daynes and Sons Jewelry in gold scrollwork above the entrance. “Paul, you're not going to…”

“I am.” He tightened his grip on her arm when she drew back.

“The fire! Your cattle! A house to build!” Julia exclaimed. “Two Bits!”

He laughed out loud and tugged down the little brim of her hat until she had to hang onto it with both hands. “What the Sam Hill does our tailless cat have to do with a jewelry store? Darling, you will never cease to amaze me.” He gave her a little push in the small of her back toward the entrance. “Ah. Two Bits. I forgot to tell you. I retrieved him from the Marlowes, and he is now king of all he surveys in the bunkhouse.” He kept steering her. “He mopes around, looking in dark corners for you and whining. Doc says I do much the same thing.”

Julia couldn't help laughing, then made another attempt to be stern with her man. “Mr. Otto! Do be serious! You can't afford to waste money on a ring. It couldn't have been a good roundup this fall.”

“I've had better cow gathers,” he agreed. “
Mr. Otto
? Before getting on the train to Cheyenne, Mr. Otto swooped down on the First National Bank of Gun Barrel and robbed it.”

“Do be serious!”

“I am! Trust me. The banker was only too happy—you know how he likes me—to write out a whopping cashier's check, which now resides in Zions Bank.” His expression changed then, when hers didn't. He put his hands gently on her shoulders. “I can see that you're going to be surprised in a few months when you are Mrs. Otto and discover you're married to a pretty juicy stockman. Darling, I'm good for it, and I didn't rob the First National.”

He held the door open and gave her a final push. She watched, astounded, as two sales clerks made a beeline toward Paul Otto, reminding her of her first day in Gun Barrel, when everyone deferred to him. She looked at Paul, wondering for the umpteenth time what force he exerted in restaurants, banks, and shops. He strode purposefully toward the display cases.

“What shall we show the little lady?” said the clerk who beat his colleague in a dignified dash.

“Whatever she wants.” Paul smiled at Julia. “Give her a big choice. That's all she ever wanted in an engagement ring.”

“You remembered,” she whispered.

His lips were close to her ear. “I'm a whole lot brighter than Ezra Quayle.”