Ballad Beauty (7 page)

She bit her lower lip and nodded slightly. He scooped her up and walked the few steps needed, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other, doing his level-best not to think about the womanly package in his arms.

“Now I’m going to set you on the rock, then I’d like to help rub some feeling back into your legs.”

Most ladies would be appalled, but Jenny McShanahan looked grateful. He set her down as gently as he could and leaned back on his heels as he knelt before her.

“May I take off your boots?”

“Please,” she whispered. She hiked up her skirt a little so he could better maneuver the boot from her leg. He figured about now her bottom and her legs would start stinging as the feeling returned, so he kept up a constant conversation to distract her.

“These are awfully nice boots, ma’am. Not quite what we have around here, but they’re nice all the same.”

She grimaced as he began working the first one off. “They’re men’s boots.”

He stopped and studied her.

“Oh, go ahead. Don’t stop. My legs are starting to feel like I’ve fallen in a bed of pine needles and decided to dance in them.”

“That kind of stabbing sensation?”

“Yes!” she threw out as the first boot came off. “I have rather large feet for a woman. I suppose it’s because I’m so tall. I’ve always had trouble finding shoes. When Papa sent me some money to buy a few new things, I knew from Mr. Mulholland’s guidebook that I would need sturdy boots. The sales clerk told me that they made no sturdier—ouch!”

“Sorry.” He eased off her woolen stockings and saw what she meant. She had feet longer than most men he knew, but they were perfectly shaped, each toe better than the one beside it.

He handed her the stockings and began massaging her legs. She moaned a few times, and he began to grow hard. Oh, God Almighty, this would never do. Here he was in the middle of nowhere, stroking the long, alabaster legs of Sam McShan’s daughter, and they were the best set of legs he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.

Noah turned until his back was toward her and sat on his heels, placing her legs on his thighs. At least his front side was hidden from her view this way. He continued his circular motions for a few minutes, and she quieted considerably. Thank goodness she didn’t sound like a painted lady anymore.

Jenny was in heaven. At the first touch of Noah’s hands on her leg, she almost jumped six feet into the sky. No man had ever touched her before. All the rules of propriety that Miss Thompson ground into her echoed through her head. An unmarried lady did not spend time alone with a gentleman without a proper chaperone, much less let him massage her bare feet and legs.

But did Miss Thompson have a glimmer of how good it could feel? Through the stinging sensations that darted up and down her legs in a frantic dance, she sensed a marvelous warmth rushing along her, past her legs and into the pit of her stomach, spreading faster and faster. She had no control over it.

She wondered what had come over her to go off with a handsome stranger, much less let him stroke her intimately less than a day into their journey.

She didn’t care. She was a Western woman now, one who was simply being practical in the situation. She may have crossed a line she’d never even considered existing before, but the West was a radically different place. She could toss a bit of pride aside and let Mr. Webster help make her a bit more comfortable. That’s all it was. Besides, no witnesses to this spectacle meant no gossip would reach anyone’s ears.

Noah reached over and took one of the stockings from her and carefully slid it back up her leg. He repeated the action with the other.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know I must seem brazen to you. Normally, I would never allow a man to take such liberties.”

“You’re in a bad way, Miss McShanahan. Don’t worry about it. I told you last night—do what you think is right and to heck with what others think.” He looked around them. “No one’s here anyway to think poorly of you.” He smiled wickedly. “Well, maybe Miss Sassy thinks less of you than she did before.”

She stared at the horses a moment and then laughed aloud, a deep laugh from her belly. He gave her a heart-melting smile, and her laughter died as she focused on the dimple that creased one cheek. Suddenly her heart knew she was in for trouble, just as surely as the sun would set.

CHAPTER 9

“I can’t believe you’d call this a meal.”

Jenny wrinkled her nose as she held up the beef jerky for closer inspection. The dried meat had a smoky smell to it. She took a bite and had to really work to tear a piece off. The jerky had a hickory taste, but she found chewing it tougher than trying to gnaw on shoe leather. Noah had said they would have dinner and then rest awhile before getting three or more hours down the road. A few swigs from a canteen and as many bites as she could stomach of the jerky was not the repast she had in mind.

“Don’t we eat biscuits out on the trail? And red-eye gravy?” She waved the jerky around as she spoke. “Flapjacks and strong coffee and—”

“Whoa, Nellie girl, just back it up.” He eyed her with obvious amusement. “I never promised you a feast.”

“But Mr. Mulholland said while on the trail—”

“There you go again,” he interrupted. “You’ve mentioned this Mulholland fellow before. Just who in heck is he? Some expert on the West?”

She relaxed. “Why, yes. I would have expected you would be familiar with his work, living here.”

Noah look perplexed. “What work?”

“Guidebook to the American West.
Mr. Milton Mulholland is the author. It was recently published. I’ve read it from cover to cover several times and twice on the train coming out here, to be precise. He has fascinating information in it, more so than most books I’ve read.”

Noah snorted. “I’ll just bet. Exactly what did this Mister Fancy-Pants write about?”

She rolled her eyes at him, as one of her former students might. “His credentials are impeccable, Mr. Webster. He worked as a ranch hand and cowboy on the Goodnight-Loving Trail. He mined silver in Colorado and Nevada. He lived in Texas with the Comanche for—”

“Hold your sweet horses, Miss McShanahan. Ain’t nobody foolish enough to try to live with the Comanche. Not that those wild Indians would let a white do that.”

She caught the smirk he tried to wipe off his face unsuccessfully.

“You’re telling me—”

“I would never presume to tell the likes of you anything, Miss McShanahan. I’m simply trying to inform you that Mr. Milton Mulholland and his
Guidebook to the American
West is a bunch of hogwash.”

She gasped. “How dare you, sir! It is a legitimate book published by a reputable company. It can’t be all lies.”

“I’m calling Mr. Mulholland a bald-faced liar, ma’am. Sure, he might have traveled out West and picked up enough stray facts to write himself a book that only neophytes would read, but I doubt he’s done a tenth of the things he claims to have done in that book of his.”

“How can you possibly say that when you haven’t even seen his work, much less read it?” Why would you believe such a thing?”

He gazed at her steadily. “Why would you?”

Jenny was speechless.

He took the chance to talk before she regained her senses. “We’ll stop every day around one and have a light meal. Similar to the one we’re partaking of now.” He paused, daring her to interrupt. “We’ll rest for an hour and then head back out. When we stop for the night, we’ll build a fire and have coffee and something hot for our bellies. You do know how to cook, ma’am?” A mischievous light danced in his eyes.

“No.” She glared at him.

“Then I guess you’ll be happy to know that your trail guide is also a first-rate cook. At least we won’t starve in the wilderness.”

She reached for her canteen again. She felt very hot, too hot to keep arguing. The day had warmed up considerably, and she’d been able to remove her cloak. Her face seemed warm, though, as if she had a fever. Her parched lips seemed dry as a desert. Every time she swallowed, it hurt.

Suddenly, Noah sat down next to her on the flat rock. He pulled a bandana from his pocket and poured some water over it. He handed it to her.

“Wipe your face with this. You’re looking a little peaked.”

She did as he said, and she did recover some. She guessed her hat hadn’t protected her face as well as she’d imagined it would. She could see herself red as a Boston lobster tomorrow and shuddered.

“Here,” he said and took the cloth from her. “Remember to moisten it every now and then while we ride from now on. Just dab it along here,” and he touched the wet bandana under her jaw and slid it down her throat slowly, “and here,” as he brushed it along the back of her neck.

If she seemed hot before, she was now on fire. She didn’t understand at all why this intense heat grew, all the way to the pit of her stomach, unless it was acute embarrassment. She tried to take the bandana from him.

“Yes, well, thank you, Mr. Webster. I’ll keep that in mind.” But he didn’t let go. His fingers brushed hers, and the flames in her stomach sparked and fanned out.

“Wait,” he said softly. He dipped the cloth in water again and then lifted it over her head. She was engulfed as his arms went around her but didn’t touch her. The space between them was very narrow. Jenny could not breathe.

“Wh
—What are you doing”? she stammered.

He looked down in her eyes. “You’ll see.” Noah tied the bandana loosely around her neck, knotting it at her throat. “This should help.”

He stood and slowly backed away from her. “I should have thought to tell you a bit before we set out. You still look mighty thirsty, ma’am. Every time I take a sip from my canteen, I’ll remember to tell you to take one, too.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Miss McShanahan. We’ll get you through this in one piece.”

With that, Noah Webster stretched out his tall frame on the ground and plopped his hat over his face. She heard a mumbled, “Just give me an hour now.” Within a minute, light snores echoed in the air.

It amazed her that anyone could fall asleep that fast. How could he even be comfortable sprawled on the rock-hard ground like that?

She rose and started to peek under his hat to see if he were pulling her leg. No, that would never do. Mr. Mulholland said cowboys needed to be very light sleepers, in case someone tried to steal their cattle at night. She could imagine lifting his hat and being shot in return, strictly on his honed instincts.

Instead, she sat back down and proceeded to study him. The man cut a fine figure. That was one fact she could attest to. She had no involvement with men, having been raised at The Thompson School, which boasted no male instructors or students besides the lone janitor.

The only man in her life had been Dr. Randolph, unless she counted the men she encountered at the clinic he ran. She had been exposed to some hardened types there. The clinic offered free services for the most part, as Dr. Randolph only had patients pay what they could afford. That usually amounted to very little if anything at all. She saw all sorts enter with injuries too numerous to count.

Most of them had been in too much pain to bother her as she assisted the physician in his ministrations. She helped tend to broken bones, cuts, stab wounds, burns, infections, and even a few gunshot wounds. Some of the rough clientele frightened her, but her conversations with them were limited—and always with Dr. Randolph present. She learned several useful skills over the years concerning medicine. She wished Noah knew that side of her. She feared he thought her a simple-minded, fluffy-headed, prissy little creature. She was so much more than that.

Maybe he was right in calling her bossy, though. She did have a lot of book knowledge and wasn’t shy about sharing it. Most of the time she knew her information to be correct. Normally, she acted with confidence, especially when she was in control of a situation. That was when she felt most comfortable. So much of her life hadn’t been in her power, and so she strove desperately to be in charge—no matter what—whenever she could. She’d learned from teaching spoiled little rich girls that she always needed to show those around her that she was in charge. Perhaps she had taken it a step too far with her hired guide. After all, he was supposed to be the expert.

She watched as his chest rose and fell with a regular rhythm. He did look like she imagined cowboys on cattle drives would. He was tall, with the Stetson that all men here seemed to favor. She looked at his hands crossed on his chest, the fingers long and lean. She shivered as she thought about those tanned fingers running along her jaw, guiding the wet bandana down her throat.

She knew in her soul that she wanted to kiss Noah Webster.

Why? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had never been kissed before—and she was ready now. But she didn’t really like him all that much. He oozed charm with his Western drawl and catlike grace. He was exactly the kind of man that ladies stayed away from.

But she still wanted to kiss him. A lot.

She imagined his lips on hers. The heat in her stomach burned as before.

“Miss McShanahan?”

She jumped as a shadow blocked the sunlight. She raised her eyes to look into his. Though she knew it wasn’t quite appropriate—at least by East coast standards—she
was
in the West now. And a Western woman wouldn’t stand on ceremony.

Especially if she might find a chance to kiss this man somewhere down the line.

“Why don’t you call me Jenny?”

His lips twitched. “All right. Miss Jenny. Ready to go?”

She nodded. She pushed off the rock. She couldn’t believe she’d been so wrapped up in her woolgathering that she hadn’t even seen him awaken. He was quieter than a cat stalking a mouse.

Noah thought a wounded animal had wandered into their camp. The low, guttural noise threw him a moment. Then he realized it came from his traveling companion.

“Having problems, Miss Jenny?”

She threw him a murderous look. “Other than the fact I can’t walk and dread putting my sore posterior into that saddle? No, Mr. Webster. No problems at all.”

He laughed heartily. “Just call me Noah, ma’am.” He helped her mount her horse. She cooed to it and patted its neck lovingly. He wished she would cozy up to him like that.

“I’ll try to set a slower pace than before. This has been a hard first day for you.” He looked at her with admiration. “I don’t know of many women who could’ve done what you have already, Jenny. You just hang in there.”

She beamed at the compliment, and her smile kicked him in his gut. Maybe he should just be a surly cuss from now on. He didn’t need any more of her sunny smiles putting foolish notions into his head.

They rode a few more hours and talked as they went.

“How long do you think it will take us, Noah? To reach Prairie Dell, that is.”

He thought about it. “It’s a good nine hundred miles. Maybe a touch more. Since you’re a greenhorn, we’ll aim for fifty miles a day. I’d say about two and a half weeks if we don’t encounter any problems.”

She frowned. “What kind of problems?”

“Oh, something like floods, fires, angry Indians. Poisonous snakes. Outlaws.” He deliberately cut himself off when he saw the look of horror grow on her face. Nothing like putting his foot in his mouth.

“I’m sorry I asked.” She fell silent for a few miles.

“I will be happy to see my father,” she finally said. “It’s been such a long time. I can’t think of anything in my life that could be more exciting than seeing Papa in the flesh.”

She grew quiet again. They rode several more miles before he heard her humming softly to herself. It was a sad tune, probably Irish by the sounds of it. He’d heard Sam sing plenty of Irish ballads in the past.

He glanced sideways at his traveling companion. She had a beautiful profile. Flawless skin. A few blond tendrils escaped from under her hat and floated on the breeze.

She finished the song and launched into another one.

“Sing it.”

“What?” She looked up at him, startled. “Sing what?”

“The words to whatever tune you were humming.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine. I have a tendency to hum like some people doodle.”

He smiled at her. “I don’t mind you singing. Wish I could join in.”

“I wish you could. I’d teach you the words if I knew them.” She sighed. “I don’t remember any of them. Papa used to sing me a litany of songs every night before bed. I remember all the melodies and even some of the titles, but I never can seem to remember the words. I guess it’s been too long.”

He saw those green eyes begin to glisten and had to swallow hard. Either the shade of those magical eyes or her tears would do him in. He better toughen up fast before he lost his head.

And his heart.

“Noah, what if he doesn’t recognize me? The last time I saw him, I was a little girl. Now I’m a giant of a woman.” She shook her head. “Why I grew so tall is a mystery to me.”

He almost blurted out that Sam himself was tall, about six-four, but he caught himself. He had to be careful and not slip up. She was a bright woman and would pick up on any small mistake. He had too much at stake. He couldn’t let Sam get away.

As they rode, he thought back about how he’d worshipped Sam at first. The witty Irishman was much more interested in him than Pete ever was. He’d loved listening to all Sam’s stories of life back in Ireland and the trip over the Atlantic to New York. Sam told him of all kinds of scams he and Moira pulled before she was hurt. He thoroughly enjoyed being around Sam.

Until that day at the bank.

At least he would get to see Mo again. Wouldn’t she be surprised at him riding up after all these years? He had a lot of catching up to do with her, things that hadn’t gone into the many letters he’d written her over the years.

He still had conflicting feelings about Sam. Part hero-worship mixed with contempt for the man who committed crimes against others. It didn’t matter to Noah how much of the loot Sam gave away. Stealing was wrong.