Authors: Mary Wine
“Could I offer any of you gentlemen a drink?”
“Coffee would be great, ma’am.”
“Very kind of you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Turning around, Grace narrowed her eyes as she caught Brice staring at her. His brown eyes probed into her while his lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’ll take a beer.” Her eyes lit up with amusement before she turned toward the kitchen. Jacobs sent her an annoyed look before adding his order to the list.
“I’ll take two of those beers.”
Grace slapped a hand over her mouth as a giggle escaped her. It was worth the effort of waiting on them just to see the look on Jacobs’s face.
Maybe she was just sick of being so very predictable. She filled the coffee maker and waited for it to brew.
It was certainly fun to surprise Brice.
And herself.
Satisfaction was still wrapped around her. It was more than relief from sexual tension. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was quite simply…happy.
The scent of coffee filled the kitchen and she waited for the pot to brew. Yes, that was exactly it. She’d had enough of everyone predicting her moves, anticipating her reactions, scoring her efficiency rate, compressing her life into a neat, well-organized report that would be filed away in an ever-so-plain manila folder.
She poured the coffee into mugs and picked them up before moving back into the living room.
She plastered a smile across her face. Well, they could just add this to their findings.
Brice didn’t get the chance to return to Grace until well after midnight. Her room was empty, giving him a few moments of gleeful anticipation that died when he discovered his own bed empty too. He returned to the hallway and heard a soft whistle. Jacobs was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, steam rising from a fresh cup of coffee. He pointed toward the patio.
Brice didn’t bother to worry about why Jacobs was being so accommodating. He moved outside and found Grace curled up on his patio sofa. She had her chin and nose tucked into the collar of her jacket.
She’d been waiting for him.
He didn’t bother to debate whether or not he was right. Part of him needed to be right because their trip up to Jennings Mill just might be his last days with her.
So he scooped her up, cradled her gently and took her down the hallway.
“You carry me too much.”
Brice settled her in his bed and attacked one of her boots. He set it aside and began working on the other one.
“You end up on the outer edge too often.”
“Meaning what?”
He placed his hat on the bed post. “You were neither out in the woods with the rest of your unit or in the guest bedroom. You don’t feel you belong on either side. Tonight, you belong here.”
“Because you say so?”
“Because I’m willing to speak up. Jacobs might look out for you when he can but he is still building his career on your success record. Every Ranger in your unit will take away a shining service record. I think it’s time you earned something from putting your skills to use.”
“Is that something a place in your bed?”
He turned to put his gun on the bedside table. “It’s called home, Grace. Why don’t you try sleeping in my embrace because you just want to? Admit you’re sick of having no one but yourself? Nothing but the next target. Let’s just stop talking and enjoy the night.”
Grace nodded.
It was so simple and yet so very complicated.
She unzipped her jacket and shrugged out of it. He was right. Talking would only give reality a chance to sour the mood. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that. He lay down beside her and folded her into his arms. She closed her eyes, intent on slipping back into sleep. Brice’s embrace made it simple.
She just wished it wouldn’t be one of the last times she would be able to enjoy it.
Chapter Eight
The sight of Jennings Mill should have caused her to tighten her focus. Instead, Grace felt like every last drop of tension was bleeding away into the morning sunlight. Filling her lungs yet again, she held the fresh air a moment before letting it out. Even her historical clothing felt good this morning.
Grace shook her head at her own folly, she wasn’t here to play.
There was camp to make and the chore might help her focus. Moving around the back of Brice’s truck, she hooked her hands into one of the many bundles that needed to be unloaded.
Brice pulled it out of her arms. “No lifting for you.” Brice shouldered the load and walked over to their campsite. Fixing an annoyed look at the man’s back, Grace turned and pulled a larger bundle from the truck bed.
“That means you, Gracie.” Jacobs yanked her newest burden away.
“I am not an invalid.” Neither man paid any attention to her rising frustration.
Jacobs pulled a second load from the truck before he confidently carried both bundles down the trail. Grace whirled around to grab something else from the truck. She reached for a stack of folded canvas when Brice pressed up behind her.
“But you are playing the role of bait this weekend,” he whispered against her ear. “Let’s not let the bad guys know just how hard you are to push down. I’m sure Beth could use a hand setting up the kitchen.”
Grace glared at him before turning away. Brice Campbell was just far too attractive. Every time she caught sight of his eyes she wanted to sink into the brown pools. Just the way he moved his mouth was enough to bring color to her cheeks now. The low rumble of his amusement drifted on the wind and her cheeks flushed further.
So much for tension relief.
“Grace. I’m so glad you came.” Beth rounded the truck with her arms full. She aimed a bright smile at Grace as she came closer. “Come on, let’s get over to the camp. I want one of the upper cooking fires this time and you have to stake a claim early on a holiday weekend.”
“Need a hand?” Grace asked.
“Oh, could I ever. These cast-iron pots are the worst.” Beth immediately handed off several large cooking pots. Delighted to have someone who didn’t intend to coddle her, Grace took Beth up on her offer immediately.
But Brice was correct too. She needed to remember just what she was really doing at the historical event. It wasn’t about playing make believe.
Women were already laying claim to the better cooking spots. Beth surveyed what was available and led Grace in that direction. As the woman set about arranging the hearth to her satisfaction, she also made a careful point of not getting too close to Grace. Having people be nervous around her was normal, but watching Beth do so just seemed so very disappointing.
The gossip chain must have delivered the news to Beth of just what Grace was. Women especially avoided contact with her after finding out she was a psychic. Except for the few that wanted her to teach them how to cast spells.
She really liked the red-haired woman. Being tolerated for the sake of her attraction for Jacobs was a harsh blow. But Beth finally turned around and faced her.
“Tell me the truth. Did I mess up by challenging Jacobs’s authority at the hospital?” Beth fingered a fold of her skirt. “I know you know him. Some men can’t take it when a woman runs them in circles. It’s just my way sometimes.”
Nervousness floated across Beth’s face, but it wasn’t directed at Grace. Instead, the woman aimed pleading eyes at her. Relief flooded Grace as she discovered Beth was worried that she’d stepped on Jacobs’s pride too hard.
“It would depend on how you define ‘mess up’.”
“What do you think I mean?” Beth asked in exasperation.
“If your intention was to wave a red flag in front of the bull, you hit the mark. If you don’t want Jacobs’s attention, I suggest you pack up now and move to another state.”
“You really think so?”
“You’d be surprised at the number of women who try the helpless approach with Jacobs just because of his size,” Grace explained as she took up her post at the chopping block again.
“Brice has the same problem,” Beth commented and she started to arrange some meat into a large cast-iron cooking pot. “With him being the sheriff and all. He really hates it. I imagine that’s why he likes you.”
“Meaning what?” Grace asked.
“Just that you must be one of the toughest women I’ve ever met. Half the men here are scared to death of you. Not Brice, he’s eating it up,” Beth informed her.
“Now you’re having me on,” Grace scoffed. “I doubt there is anyone here who’s afraid of me.”
“Believe what you like, but my dad runs the only feed store in the county, and I hear everything at that counter. One of the more colorful tales making the rounds is that you are having a wild time with both those men out at Brice’s place.”
Grace choked on that one. Beth reached out to pat her on the back.
“A little off the mark?” Beth asked her.
“Extremely. My experience with the opposite sex is limited to Brice.”
Beth stopped what she was doing and stared at her for a time.
“You aren’t joking? Brice is your first?” she asked. “You’ve got to be one tough lady if you kept all those guys you work with out of your pants.”
Grace suddenly felt very exposed. She stopped chopping and laid the knife down.
“Don’t be upset with me. Sometimes I wish that I had held out longer. Seems sad that I wasted myself on some guy that didn’t appreciate me. No, he just wanted to say he’d gotten the general’s daughter. It was never really about me.”
Grace looked at Beth’s blue eyes. She’d never really thought about her virginity one way or the other. The girl in front of her found it a reason to respect her. Grace smiled as she picked her knife back up. “I believe you summed it up nicely at the hospital.”
“I did?”
Grace raised a grin toward Beth. “‘Men are thick’,” she quoted.
Beth giggled as she turned back to their dinner. “That they are, my friend.”
Grace sat eating with amazement a few hours later. How did Beth turn food into something that tasted this good? If she stuck around her, she was going to gain twenty pounds for sure. She watched as the men who were present heaped compliments on her. Beth was enjoying the attention.
Jacobs and Brice had sat down at a small table with some other men and were currently engaged in a card game of some sort. Giving Beth a hug, Grace set off for the tent and relief from her binding stays. People were arriving in droves now, and the path was crowded as they carried their belongings up to the camp. Crossing the battlefield, she left them behind.
The horse corrals came into view next and Grace noted that every single corral was full. Several makeshift ones had also been erected to contain the number of animals that were present. Candle lanterns bled yellow light into the darkness. The conversation of the re-enactors drifted along with the scent of pine on the wind. Someone was playing a fiddle, and the soft sounds of some love ballad filled the air.
The strong sense of community was insistently pulling at her. Last month it had been easy to stay on the fringes and not allow herself to become too accustomed to the people here. Now it was very different.
Brice’s words rose from her memory to tempt her with the idea of home and belonging. But it seemed as much of a fantasy as the re-enactment around her. Come Monday morning, it would be only a memory.
Right now, she wanted out of her corset. How had women worn the things every day of their lives? She was getting much better at maneuvering the petticoats and skirt. She no longer needed to pull the things up when climbing the hills. There was a certain walk that a girl developed that just sent the fabric swishing out of the way of her feet.
The dark didn’t bother Grace. It had been a source of solitude as long as she could remember. But she wasn’t alone tonight. Several men were clearly keeping an eye on her. The deputies she’d met at Brice’s floated about, but the others were just re-enactors that seemed to think of her as a lady in need of their protection.
That was almost comical. Great pains had been taken to ensure that she was as rough cut as any grunt. Yet there was just something about the way a man tipped his hat at a girl that made her want to hide some of those edges.
Now she knew that the corset was indeed causing damage. It was cutting off enough blood flow to her brain to make her go soft. The slightest sign of feminine weakness would have the men of her unit attacking her like a wounded doe. Her gender alone was considered inexcusable.
Inside her tent, she began to fight with the layers of her historical clothing.
Her corset was laced down on top of a petticoat. There was a thin chemise under the corset as well. Grace twisted her arms around to her back trying to work the knots of the lacing free.
She frowned in frustration. Her first corset had laced at the back but also had a row of front hooks that the wearer could use to take the thing off. This corset only had the back laces.
Grace continued to pick at the knots, but it was very possible she was making a bigger mess of them. She made a low sound of frustration. She really wanted out of the thing. If she didn’t need it for tomorrow, she would simply use Jacobs’s survival knife to cut the front of it open. But she did need it. Another groan issued from her throat.