Deborah Camp (5 page)

“I got a glimpse of him when I arrived in town and he certainly cuts a dashing figure,” Lu said as she poured her daughter a glass of milk. “Both he and his cousin are fine-looking men.”

“You can wrap a cow pattie in pretty paper, but
it’s still a cow pattie,” Jebidiah observed, making them all laugh.

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Bitsy said. “There’s gold to be mined there for anyone who’s interested.” Then she looked directly at Regina and winked!

Flustered, Regina turned away, but she recalled being close to him in his office and how her breath had caught in her throat and her stomach muscles had contracted with yearning. He’d called her potent, but he was the one who could intoxicate. Better keep away from him, she told herself. One kiss from him could foster a craving in her for more. Like whiskey, Theodore Dane was trouble she could live without.

M
ason’s General Store was busy on Saturday afternoon. Regina moved to the back where bolts of material reached the ceiling. Mr. Mason filled orders at the front, grabbing things off the shelves as two women read from their shopping lists.

Fingering a length of cream-colored cotton, Regina mentally pictured a simple, ruffle-free dress. Mrs. Nation frowned on bright colors, wearing only white or black. Regina tried to curb her desire for bright jewel tones, but it seemed an impossible task. Her hand moved, as if on its own accord, from the cream material to a bolt of emerald-green, water-spotted silk. She laid the book she’d purchased earlier on a bolt of navy blue linen and gathered the green silk in both hands to lift it to her cheek. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the fabric against her skin and remembered another silk dress of ruby red that had hugged her body. Its flamboyant bustle, ruffled train, and low-cut bodice had drawn every man’s eye. When she had walked on stage in that dress, drinks had been forgotten, poker and dart games had ceased, and a breathless silence had overtaken the Gold Star Saloon in rowdy Dodge City, Kansas.

Those nights came back to her and she could almost
smell the heady beer and pungent cigars. The tinkle of the piano floated through her mind. Snatches of songs came back to her—songs she had sung as the star attraction of the Gold Star. Dodge City’s Wild Irish Rose.

Suddenly she recalled the sheriff’s invitation to the Spring Cotillion, which had startled her. She snuggled her nose into the silk as if it were a bouquet. There had been a time when such invitations were as common in her life as bees in a flower garden. Back then she had expected invitations, so it tickled her that she’d been rendered tongue-tied when Sheriff Stu had asked to escort her to the cotillion. She had been right to refuse. With Mrs. Nation gone on her speaking tour, Regina would have more than her share of chores and responsibilities. She had no time for frivolity. No time for dancing and singing … no time … She sighed again with heavy melancholy. Oh, but it would be lovely to put on her dancing slippers and be swept across the floor, trailing exotic perfume and ruffled, lace-edged silk.

“It would be my pleasure to buy a few yards of that silk just to see you wearing it.”

Regina’s eyes popped open and the material slipped from her fingers as she stared into Theodore Dane’s sparkling blue eyes. She felt roses bloom in her cheeks as a nervous laugh puffed across her lips. He looked roguishly handsome in his black suit and gray shirt, and he held a stylish black hat in his hands. His hair was attractively mussed. He ran the fingers of one hand through it, sweeping it off his forehead.

“Mr. Dane, I … You caught me daydreaming.” She smoothed her damp palms down the skirt of her brown dress. She felt like a wren, drab and timid, confronted by this big, bold raven. Glancing around, she saw that they were alone at the back
of the store. Mr. Mason was still engaged by the two women up front. Regina grasped a length of black muslin and examined it, trying her best to ignore the man who had managed to step closer to her.

“Go back to the green, Miss Rose,” he said in a low, intimate whisper. He angled closer. Regina had never been around a man who smelled so good. A spicy, woodsy scent enveloped her and she yearned to press her nose to the side of his neck for a more intoxicating sniff. “I’ll buy the green material for you,” he added, his grin creasing the corners of his eyes.

His good humor was infectious and she felt her lips curve in response. There was something about him—a sly sexuality—that both appealed to her and repelled her. She had the impression that he could look through her public veneer and observe her private thoughts, her buried dreams, her midnight wishes. She cleared her throat of nerves.

“Mr. Dane, you know I’m not the kind of lady to accept such a gift from a stranger. Besides, I have no use for fancy fabric. This muslin will give me many seasons of wear.”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Yes, but it’s not the kind of thing to wear to a dance.”

“Dance?” She laughed under her breath and edged away from him. Could he read her mind? “Why would I be buying material for a dance dress? Why, I hardly have time to read my Bible daily, what with all the chores I have around Mrs. Nation’s place.”

“I heard she left town. Guess she left you all her work, too.”

“I don’t mind a bit.” She sent him a sharp glance. “And she wouldn’t have had to leave if she didn’t need to raise money for the upcoming trial.”

“Ouch.” He winced and laid one hand against his heart. “So it’s all my fault, is it? Because of me Mrs. Nation had to leave town and you must work your fingers to the bone and wear sackcloth and ashes.”

She forced her gaze away from the strong, tanned hand covering his heart. “Work is good for everyone, and this dress I’m wearing isn’t so unattractive that it could be mistaken for sackcloth.”

“No,” he allowed, stepping back to peruse her as if she were a tailor’s dress form. “But you can’t wear it to the cotillion. It just wouldn’t do.”

“The co-cotillion?” Her voice broke on the word. She stared at him, wondering irrationally if he was clairvoyant. “How did you …? What made you bring up the Spring Cotillion?”

He turned sideways and looked up. She followed his gaze and laughed with relief when she saw the handbill promoting the town event.

“Thank heavens! For a moment there, I thought …” She let the rest go unsaid and turned away from him. “Well … I should be on my way now, Mr. Dane. Good—”

“You’re going, aren’t you?”

She turned back to him. “To the cotillion? No, sir. I couldn’t possibly.”

“Oh, so you have no escort? I’ll be glad to oblige. Just don’t wear black or brown. You should look like a spring flower.”

“Mr. Dane, I couldn’t possibly go to the cotillion with you,” she insisted, although the image of herself on his arm persisted. She, in the green gown; he, dashing and dangerous in a black swallow-tailed suit coat.

“Why can’t you go?” He frowned and shook his head. “And don’t give me those measly work excuses. Everyone has work to do, Miss Rose.”

“Sir, you’re representing Tom Wilson.”

He blinked owlishly. “Yes? And so?”

She blew out a breath of frustration. “I would be consorting with the enemy, don’t you see.”

“The enemy?” He fell back a step and laughed. “I bet if you asked Mrs. Nation herself, she’d disagree with that assessment. I’m not your enemy. I’m your willing slave, Miss Rose.” He swayed closer, eyes all atwinkle. “And I’m ready to do your bidding. Shall I send a few yards of that green silk to your home, Regina Rose?”

“Certainly not.” She released a breathy laugh and retreated from him. “Mr. Dane, I think you’re—”

“Call me Theo and go to the cotillion with me. It’ll be a night to remember.”

“No, I can’t.” She held up one hand to ward off his advance. “And not just because it’s you asking. I don’t have time for parties and dances anymore.”

“Make time.”

“No, Mr. Dane.”

“Theo.”

“No, Mr. Dane.”

He tipped his head to study her high color and shallow breathing, then he bowed at the waist. “I know when I’m beaten, Miss Rose.”

The sadness in his eyes disturbed her. “Good day, Mr. Dane. Th-thank you for asking. I’m flattered.”

“And I’m crestfallen.” One corner of his mouth twitched, and she knew he was only half serious.

With a quick smile, she whirled from him and wound her way out of the store, forgetting that she had a shopping list to fill.

Watching her go, Theo called himself mule-headed for imagining he could melt her resistance to him. He examined the bolt of silk and saw her draped in it. Well, the cotillion was a few weeks away. Maybe he’d find a way to convince her….
The sound of a braying mule blared in his mind and he scoffed at himself. When it came to Miss Rose, he just couldn’t admit he was licked.

He was about to leave when he spotted the book he’d seen her place on top of a bolt of fabric. He picked it up and grinned. It’s not a lacy, monogrammed handkerchief, he thought, but it would do. He turned it to read the gold letters on the spine—
Living Thrifty: Managing Your Money
. Theo glanced in the direction she’d gone. Living thrifty? He remembered the pinch of worry between her eyes during the hearing, and today her smile hadn’t been completely free, but somehow encumbered. The lady took her responsibilities seriously, he thought, then wondered again what had happened in her life to push her in this direction.

“May I assist you, Mr. Dane?” the store owner asked, rousing him from his reverie.

“No, Mr. Mason, I…” Theo’s voice dwindled as he eyed the green water-spotted silk. Would she accept it? He frowned, knowing she wouldn’t. Not from him. And why in the world was he so eager to buy it? a sarcastic voice within him asked. He hardly knew the girl! He shook his head, glad his sensibilities had returned. “I’ll take a couple of your best cigars, Mr. Mason, and a box of matches.”

“They’re up front, Mr. Dane. I’ll let you select your cigars from the box that just arrived fresh yesterday. Nothing like a good cigar, huh, Mr. Dane?”

“Nothing …” Theo glanced at the emerald silk as he passed by it. “Except, of course, a good woman. Or a bad one.” His wicked wink illicited a belly laugh from the portly store owner.

Sitting in the parlor, her knitting in her lap, Regina dozed. Remembrances floated through her
mind: of her mother, Lilah; her father, Will; the house they lived in together, and the house she, her mother, and her half brother, Jack, had lived in after her father left.

She remembered Jack when he was fifteen; a callow, black-haired lad, five years her senior and supposedly the spitting image of his father, a man Regina had never known. Jack had been only three when his widowed mother, Lilah, had married Regina’s father, Will Rose, who had worked in the lumber business. Will Rose had died eight years ago, but he had left the family years before that.

The ruined beauty of her mother’s face floated through Regina’s mind, making her clench her teeth and ball her hands into fists. She was gripped once again with confusing feelings of wanting to embrace her mother and needing to push her away. She felt herself floating away from the memories, and the farther she went, the lighter she felt.

A pounding on the front door brought her sharply awake. The ball of yarn in her lap tumbled to the rug, trailing a bright yellow strand. Regina put aside the muffs she was making for Annie Beck and hurried to the door. Whoever was on the other side pummeled it again, making it shake on its hinges and rattle the crossbar.

“Wait a minute,” Regina called, gripping the heavy plank and beginning to lift it before the voice of caution stayed her. “Who is it?”

“Jack. Open up.”

Jack! Regina froze, not at all certain she wanted to see her half brother face-to-face again.

“Open up or I’ll knock the damn door down!” Jack bellowed, and pounded on it again.

“Jack, stop it,” Regina hissed as she lifted the crossbar and opened the door to confront what
she’d dreaded most—a ruddy-faced, wild-eyed drunk. “What do you want at this hour, Jack? And what are you doing in Eureka Springs?”

“You know damn good and well why I’m here,” he said, too loudly. His voice echoed along the wide, deserted street. “I’m here to collect my wife, that’s what. And don’t go shaking your head, little sis, because I know she hightailed it here. Where is she?” He pushed past Regina and stumbled into the foyer. “Is she upstairs? Come down here, you cowardly bitch! Come down or I’ll come up and drag you downstairs by the hair of the head. You know I’ll do it!”

“Jack, stop this.” Regina grabbed his coat sleeves and shook hard to get his attention. “She’s not here, I tell you. She left you, did she? Well, I’m not surprised, if this is the way you act around her.”

“Let go of me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s right, but I do know that this is my home and I’ll not have you barging in here raising the roof.”

“And what will you do about it, little sis?” His sneer sent a shiver through her.

“Jack, come into the kitchen. It’s raining outside and you’re wet. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and you can dry out beside the cookstove.” She tugged again. “Come on, now. Enough of this yelling and swearing. I’ll take care of you, Jacky.”

The routine returned, the one she’d learned as a young girl. Coddle, comfort, never condemn. Get them settled and maybe they’d pass out. Then, and only then, would there be a few rare hours of peace. She hated Jack for making her remember, forcing the routine back on her. If she had only herself to think of she would order him from her home and lock the door behind him. But she
couldn’t take that chance tonight. If push came to shove, he might shove past her and gain the run of her house. That, she could not afford.

Jack regarded her intently, and Regina knew he was trying to see past her concern to the truth of her. He shook off her clutching hands and jerked at the lapels of his damp coat.

“You own this place?” he asked, looking around.

“I rent from Mrs. Nation.”

“Mrs. Nation,” Jack said, his upper lip curling. “Someone ought to muzzle that old cur.”

“That’s an unkind thing to say about someone you haven’t even met.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Come into the kitchen, Jack.”