Authors: Barbara Bretton
Finally, close to midnight, she was ready to put away her mending and retire to her room when she heard the sound of his spurs jingling in the front hall and she hurried out to see him.
"Jesse?"
He stopped, about to mount the stairs for the second floor. "Up late, aren't you, Car-o-line?"
The hallway was dark, making it hard to discern the expression on his face and she found herself swallowing hard against a sudden bout of nervousness. "I—I was waiting to talk to you."
"Can it wait? I got myself a real need to sleep tonight, darlin'."
He started up the staircase and she reached over and placed her hand on his arm. "Please, Jesse," she said, his name soft sibilance against her tongue. "I want to thank you."
He stopped and looked down at her. "Ain't a reason that I know of."
"The Howell Bank. Mr. Mattingly was most cooperative and I...I want to thank you for making it possible."
His expression didn't change.
"Did you hear me?" Her voice grew sharp. "Thank you for paving the way for me."
"Sorry, Car-o-line. Don't mind takin' credit for things but this time I didn't do a damn thing to deserve it."
"You must have, for I could not make any headway at all with Mr. Muldoon at the Free Man's Bank while Mr. Mattingly was most eager to serve."
"Must be your pretty smile," he drawled, but she caught the hint of a smile of his own.
"I do not think so. You said you would help me and you have. I am most grateful."
"Save your gratitude, Car-o-line. Sooner we get what we want from each other, the sooner we can call this marriage off."
Stung, she looked to slap out at him. "That day cannot come soon enough for me, Mr. Reardon."
"Mr. Reardon, is it again?" He laughed. "Last night you called me Jesse."
"Last night I was under the influence of rum. Tonight I am not."
He stepped down to where she stood yet he still towered over her. "I think I liked you better last night."
"And I think we should say goodnight."
She tried to move away but he blocked her path. "Not yet. We got us something to talk about."
"It's late, Mr. Reardon. Anything you have to say can wait until morning."
"I'm going out to the mine tomorrow. Come with me. I'll show you what I got planned."
"Will you take a trap?"
"Sorry, darlin'. We been over that territory before. I'm ridin' Diablo."
She thought of the emotions unleashed as she rode with him on Diablo. "Thank you, but I think not."
"Like I said last time, I got me a little filly you might like to ride."
"And as I said last time, in Boston I rode an English saddle, not astride."
"Darlin', I thought you finally understood this ain't Boston. If you're going to be runnin' things around here, it's high time you learned how to get around on your own."
Of course, she understood exactly what he was telling her: she couldn't expect to rely on him for everything. When it came to daily life, she was truly on her own. "You may be right."
"I know I'm right. Come out to the mine with me tomorrow and I'll give you your first lesson."
"Around noon?"
"I was thinkin' more like daybreak."
"I have breakfast to prepare for my boarders. I couldn't possibly get free until nine."
"Meet me at the stables." He made a show of looking her over from head t
o toe. "And don't go wearin' none of those frilly dresses, darlin'."
"Trust me to dress myself, Mr. Reardon."
He started to say something but then apparently thought better of the notion.
"Well," she said, seeking to end the silence that stretched out awkwardly between them, "it is quite late. I should retire for the night."
His midnight-blue eyes gleamed in the darkened hallway. "Mind if I walk you home, Car-o-line?"
A ridiculous wave of pleasure rippled through her. "I would like that very much."
He waited while she extinguished the gas light in the kitchen and put her mending away in her sewing basket. A lace-trimmed corset cover slipped from her grasp and Jesse caught it in his large, callused hand before it reached the floor. She watched, entranced, as his tapered fingers closed over the silky undergarment and for a moment she imagined she could feel his hands, hot and demanding, against her breast. Quickly she snatched the corset cover from him and stashed it in the sewing basket, trying to pretend her cheeks weren't flooded with telltale color.
He followed close behind as she moved through the hallway toward the staircase and she grew conscious of the tightness of her bodice, the hushed sound of their breathing in the quiet house. The sway of her hips as she took the steps, the curve of her waist, even the gentle movement of her unbound hair as it drifted across her shoulders and down her back—all of these commonplace things suddenly became shaded by sensations she was helpless to understand or control. The simple feel of her skirt as it brushed against the back of her legs was almost unbearable.
Jesse neither touched her nor spoke to her but she knew what he was thinking, all the same. The air between them was charged with electricity like the summer sky and she knew the storm between them was more powerful—and more dangerous—than the anything nature could conjure up. She had spent her lifetime fearing those explosions of light and thunder. Who would have imagined the greatest danger lay in the explosions of light and thunder that happened between a man and a woman?
She stumbled once at the second floor landing and he took her hand to steady her. How warm his touch was, how intoxicating. Murmuring her thanks, she tried to withdraw her hand from his but his grip tightened. Hand in hand they quietly made their way down the hallway to the door of her room. Her pulse pounded violently in her ears, her throat. She could scarcely draw a breath for her heart felt swollen and seemed to press against her rib cage.
They stopped before her open door. The featherbed seemed bathed in moonlight, beckoning them. "I am quite tired. It's been a busy day."
He met her eyes and she was suspended, powerless and yearning, in his gaze. My husband, she thought. This man is my husband in the eyes of man and God. The feelings racing through her were neither wrong nor sinful and if he were only to ask—
He leaned forward and her breath caught as he tilted her chin with his index finger. Slowly—dear God, so slowly—he lowered his head and brushed her lips with his.
His whiskey-voice was low and unbearably tender. "Nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Nine o'clock," she agreed, amazed she could manage to speak at all. "Good night, Jesse."
He chuckled and turned to walk away but not before she heard the unmistakable words, "Goodnight, Mrs. Reardon."
And so began
the odd courtship of Mr. and Mrs. Jesse Reardon.
Abby tended to the clean-up each morning after breakfast, freeing Caroline to pretty herself for her daily riding lesson and trip to the mine with Jesse. She may not know how to ride a Western saddle, but she did know how to flirt and flirt she would. Once she was away from the watchful eyes of Abby and the other girls, Caroline would resurrect feminine wiles she'd feared lost forever. How wonderful it would feel to look up at Jesse through daintily lowered eyelashes, to choose each dress with him in mind, to tilt her head in a way that made the sunshine bounce off the golden strands. In some ways the rough and tumble cowboys of Silver Spur were no different from the elegant gentlemen back in Boston: the sweet scent of perfume and the seductive sway of a lady's skirts could ruffle the feathers of even the strongest man. And Jesse was no exception.
How delightful!
Oh, Jesse didn't make a move to kiss her the next morning and, to Caroline's amazement, not once did he take unfair advantage as he helped her mount Jimmy. His hands were sure and steady at her waist and his smile was friendly but underneath she sensed that her proximity was as unnerving to him as his nearness was to her and—God forgive her—Caroline took full advantage.
Life, it seemed, was looking bright and beautiful. Each morning she rose with the dawn, dressed, then went downstairs to prepare breakfast for her boarders. Mr. Mattingly had indeed approved her loan and it wouldn't be long before renovations on the Crazy Arrow began in earnest. Doc Willoughby's wife had introduced Caroline to her son who was a master carpenter and he'd promised Caroline the finest work this side of the Mississippi.
More spinsters showed up at the Crazy Arrow, frightened away from The Last Stop by gunfire and drunken brawling, and they had to double up in order to accommodate them. Thanks to Mr. Mattingly's quick action on her loan, Caroline was able to officially hire Margaret and Betty McGuigan and the two Wilder sisters to help out around the Arrow.
As it was, her days were filled with activity and her nights—well, most nights she found herself listening for the sound of her husband's footsteps in the hallway.
#
Jesse was sitting behind his desk at the King of Hearts Saloon, trying to make some sense out of the tangle his life had become in one short week. He'd been drinking too much, sleeping too little, and the only thing in his life he was sure of was that he never should have moved into the Crazy Arrow.
If Jesse had learned anything the past week, he'd learned that living that close to Caroline and not being able to touch her was the hardest thing he'd ever done. What kind of damn fool mess had he gotten himself into, anyway? Here he was supposed to be striking a blow for the Single Man's Protection League by claiming the Golden Arrow as his own, when the truth was that he had up and married the owner.
Married, at least, in all the ways except the one that counted. There he was, wed a full seven days, and he'd yet to sample his wife's charms. Groaning, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the vivid images that thought conjured up. How long could he go on passing her in the hallway at night, watching her hips swaying beneath her silky robe, wondering how that golden hair would feel drifting across him as they lay together in her bed? Each night he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, conscious of every sound, every movement in the bedroom next to his. More than once he'd contemplated storming her door and overpowering her with the heat of his desire for her, only to punch his pillow in frustration and wish Jade would get back from wherever it was she'd gone and take his mind off the impossible.
Jesse'd always believed there were two kinds of women in the world: gals like Doc Willoughby's wife and gals like Jade. Women either took care of a man and gave him a houseful of sons or else they took care of a man and gave him a hell of a good time.
Far as he could tell, Caroline didn't fit in either category. He'd never met a woman with such a strong mind before; she could cipher and read and talk circles around the smartest man in town and she had dreams that Jesse understood. Dreams about building things, about growing with the West, about carving out a place for herself where there'd been no place before. Damnation, but he found himself thinking about her at the oddest times; wondering about the way her mind worked; aching to discover the secrets of her body even though he reckoned this was one woman he wouldn't be able to push aside once the loving was over.
To make matters worse, the men were beginning to ask questions. Jesse had to admit the circumstances looked pretty suspicious, what with him riding off every morning with Caroline in tow. No wonder Sam Markham had up and asked Jesse right out if he was playing with the enemy. Now Sam had a black eye to show for it and Jesse hoped the sight of his bartender looking so poorly would keep the other men from asking any more questions. Better they forgot about Caroline and the Crazy Arrow and began thinking about Silver Spur and the future of the old Rayburn mine. For the last few years Silver Spur had been getting by mostly on reputation. The gamblers and the gunslingers still passed the time at the King of Hearts and the Golden Dragon but the real heart of the town was beating slower and slower. Mines that had once been the backbone of the town were now dead as the bodies buried at Cemetery Hill.
But not the old Rayburn mine. Twice Aaron Bennett had put together a crew to reopen the site and twice he'd been thwarted by rock slides and a collapsed support near the entrance. Jesse was convinced the easterner had been right and there was silver still hidden deep inside the site, and he was willing to stake his own time and money on that hunch. Big Red Morgan, Luke Foster, Three Toe Taylor and a dozen other miners had already signed on with him and the excitement in town was beginning to build. A summer storm had been threatening for days. If it held off, they would start work the day after tomorrow. The citizens of Silver Spur were holding their collective breath along with Jesse.
If his guess about the mine panned out, the town could have a second chance at prosperity—and this time he'd make sure they did it right.
Jesse winced as a sharp knock at his office door rattled his fillings. "Go away, Sam," he muttered through clenched teeth.
Again the knock.