Holt's Gamble (24 page)

Clay hefted a crateful of supplies into his arms and glanced at Kierin. "We'll do that. I think we can all use a break from trail dust for an evening."

"Should we bring something?" Kierin asked Joey.

A lively smile touched her lips. "You won't see any of them soldiers tumin' away home-cooked sweets," Joey hinted, "but for their part, I can pretty much guarantee you won't be dancin' with a dry throat neither."

Evening's long shadows slanted across the camp by the time they heard the first strains of music coming from the fort across the meadow. Jacob, Ben, and Dove walked on ahead, leaving Clay to pace near the fire, waiting for Kierin to finish dressing. He slid an index finger along the inside of the collar of his white chamois shirt, then straightened his black string tie. He felt vaguely uncomfortable in such trappings of civility, but then it had been a long time since he'd bothered with them.

"Kierin?"

A long pause. "Mm-hmm?"

"Are you, ah... almost ready?"

"Mm-hmm," came the muted reply.

He nodded silently to himself, absently twirling his flat-crowned hat between his fingertips. "Ben, Dove, and Jacob already went on ahead..." He heard her murmured response and cast a furtive glance back at the wagon. Bending low over the sweet fragrance of the dried-apple cobbler Kierin had made this afternoon, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. With mischievous resolve, he poked a surreptitious finger into a vent at the top of the crust, then popped the sweet-tipped digit into his mouth. Clay let out a sigh of pure pleasure.

"Perhaps I should have made two cobblers. One for the party and one for you."

Clay straightened guiltily at her words, let out a little laugh, and turned to meet the smile he heard in her voice. "I think that would have been a good i—" He stopped as he caught sight of her. His teasing words gathered at the back of his throat in a lump.

As he had hoped, she wore her green calico dress—the one the color of newborn leaves. The drop-shouldered sleeves were gathered at her slender wrists with the same tiny seed pearl buttons that ran down the front of her gown. The gold locket caressed the hollow between her breasts and caught the bronzed glimmer of the fireglow. In her loose auburn hair was the emerald satin ribbon he'd bought earlier from DuBecque and left in the wagon for her to find.

"You look... beautiful, Kierin." Clay tightened his fingers around the brim of his hat. It was an effort not to cross the short distance between them and gather her up in his arms.

Two telltale splotches of color rose in her cheeks at the look of undisguised hunger in his eyes. Her dark lashes fluttered down, casting long shadows across the delicate planes of her face. "Thank you," she said. Smoothing the bodice of her dress with the palm of her hand, she let her eyes stray back up to his. "And thank you for this, too." She touched the satin ribbon she'd threaded through her hair. "You didn't have to do that."

Seeing the smile it brought to her lips, he was suddenly very glad he had. "I wanted to. Besides, how could I resist?" One corner of his mouth quirked up as he slung a narrow parfleche over his shoulder. "The color matches your eyes." Picking up the warm cobbler, he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Kierin nodded, but her hand trembled as she placed it in the crook of his arm. His gift had touched her more than she could say. It was so unlike the other men she'd known to think of such small things. She couldn't remember her father ever giving her a gift or putting her needs before his own. She'd come to accept such insensitivity from men, even learned to expect it. But the protective barriers she'd erected against the inevitable hurt it caused were being steadily chipped away by Clay Holt's small kindnesses. The ribbon was only a tangible display of the thoughtfulness he'd shown her all along.

She remembered all the times he'd relieved her of the water-hauling chores when she was so tired from a long day's walk she could barely put one foot in front of the other; all the times he'd let her sleep a few extra minutes and started the morning fire for her. She thought of the small silly things, like the time he'd shown her the prairie dogs and his unexpected laughter when he'd pointed out the artful theatrics of a nesting killdeer.

She glanced up at him as they walked toward the fort in the twilight, and felt her heart swell with love for him. She was as helpless to contain the powerful emotion as she was to deny it. She would just allow herself to enjoy this one evening with him. What could it hurt to put aside their differences for one night? She tightened her hand around the taut muscle of his arm and leaned fractionally against him.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No. Just excited," she answered, drawing in a lungful of the blossom-scented evening air. She watched a red-wing blackbird skim the surface of the grassy sea in pursuit of a fat evening moth. "I think it's only fair to warn you though, I'm... not much of a dancer."

"No?" His face registered his surprise. "Well, that's not a problem," he told her with a cocky grin.

Her expression was doubtful "It isn't?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Because I am."

Chapter 12

Clay's boast was not an empty one, she discovered minutes later. Pole-hung lanterns defined the impromptu dance floor, which was simply a collection of canvas tarps spread across the fort's central parade ground. After depositing the cobbler on the groaning dessert table at the north end of the circle, and dispensing with perfunctory greetings to friends, he swept her onto the crowded dance floor.

The musicians played a lively rendition of "Turkey in the Straw." Kierin stumbled several times at first, but as she grew more comfortable in Clay's arms, she forgot to worry about stepping on his toes. He pulled her close, resting his left hand against the small of her back. The fingers of his other hand intertwined with hers. He guided her expertly through the lively two-step, compensating for her lack of expertise with his own skill. His ability on the dance floor shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. He danced the way he did everything else—with an easy, self-assured grace.

Kierin and Clay nodded their hellos to Mel and Elizabeth Watkins as they whirled by and then nearly collided with Daniel Thorp and his young wife, Susan. Daniel kicked his heels up with hilarious gusto, careening across the floor with all the finesse of a runaway wagon. Susan's dark blond hair flew around her face and she let out an unladylike whoop of raucous laughter as she clung to the whipcord-thin shoulders of her husband.

The crowd was quick to pick up on Daniel's enthusiasm and soon even some of the reluctant dancers were out on the floor. Clay spotted Ben and Dove near the refreshment table. Ben wore a happy grin and Dove's moccasined foot tapped out the rhythm of the music against the canvas floor.

Clay shouted to them. "What're you two waiting for? The first snow? Come on out here and dust some canvas."

Ben answered with a booming laugh. "I'm willin'," he called. "It's my bones that ain't." They laughed and Clay spun Kierin away toward the center of the circle.

The song ended a minute later, but they barely had time to catch their breath before the small band struck up a new tune. Jim Kelly, holding a battered old banjo, and Jacob with his mouth harp, had joined the musicians up on the wood-planked platform, prompting whistles and catcalls from Clay and some of the others from their train. The song was "Camptown Races," and Deemer Penry belted out the catchy lyrics as the crowd fell into step.

"Having fun?" Clay shouted to Kierin above the music, his arms holding her firmly in his embrace.

Her eyes sparkled with laughter and she nodded. "Where did you learn to dance like this? You're very good, Mr. Holt."

"Why, thank you,
Mrs. Holt,"
he retorted, and with a comical dip of his knees, twirled her off again.

She giggled at his loose-limbed playfulness and allowed him to pull her closer. Her feet kept time with his and their bodies moved as one across the floor.

"No, really," she insisted. "You are. You make it easy for me."

"Ah," he argued, "I must return the compliment. A man is only as good as his partner."

One fine eyebrow arched suspiciously. "That's not what you said before. You said it didn't matter if I could-"

"That," he silenced her before she could finish, "was before I saw what a quick study you were. Confidence," he stated unequivocally. "That's the key."

"And... if I hadn't caught on...?"

Clay gave her a little squeeze. "That possibility never crossed my mind." He dipped his head down against her hair, letting its softness caress his cheek. She'd washed and given it a vinegar rinse earlier and he'd watched her dry it by the fire. Then, as now, his fingers had itched to touch it. He liked it when she wore her hair down like this—loose and flowing like a molten cascade. He reminded himself to tell her that.

Someday.

The music stopped and he released her reluctantly. He instantly regretted it. A scrawny-necked soldier with muddy blown hair and a smitten look in his eye tapped him on the shoulder, requesting the next dance with her. Clay lifted his eyebrows inquiringly at her, hoping she'd say no. But she smiled at the young soldier and gave him her hand. The kid tossed Clay a cocky chipped-toothed grin over his shoulder as he guided Kierin toward the center of the floor.

Clay watched them go as the music began, and combed his fingers through his long dark hair. Shoving his hands in his back pockets, he ambled over to the refreshment table, ignoring the invitation in the eyes of several single women he passed.

He told himself he needed a drink. But what he really wanted was to throttle that little whelp for putting his skinny hands on her. He suddenly hoped there was something in those punch bowls with more kick than punch.

He was watching her dance, already on his third cup of a homemade brew from the men's punch bowl when Jacob found him.

"Troubles?" Jacob asked, seeing the expression on Clay's face.

Clay looked at his old friend with a wary smile. "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause," Jacob chuckled, "you got the look of an animal wid his leg caught in a trap."

Clay snorted disdainfully. "Funny you should put it that way..."

Jacob shook his head and slid his mouth harp into his pocket. "My mama used to say traps o' the heart—they's the most dangerous kind."

For all the time they'd known each other, Jacob's uncanny perception still surprised Clay. "Your mama was a smart woman."

"She done her share o' trap settin', I expect. Take my Bess. She had me snared 'fore I know'd what she be up to." Jacob's dark eyes took on a faraway look. "But then, she be the right woman, wid the right trap." He paused, glancing at Clay. "See what I mean?"

Clay tossed back another gulp of the fiery punch. "I guess I do." His eyes scanned the crowd for Kierin but he couldn't spot her. Ben and Dove walked up behind them. She shadowed the trapper, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else but at a shindig full of white folks. Though none of the white women on the train had been overtly unkind to Dove, all but Kierin had kept their distance from her.

Clay saw Dove wince and rest her palm over the buff colored deer-hide dress where it pulled tight across her stomach.

Beside Clay, Jacob stiffened and asked, "You all right, Dove?"

Her dark eyes met his with a wry smile and she patted her taut belly. "The young one will be a strong runner."

Jacob's eyes searched hers. "Maybe he wants to dance. You dance, Dove?"

She tipped her head proudly. "The women of the Sioux are all dancers, Jay-cob, but I do not know the dance of the Wasicun."

A smile played at the edge of Jacob's generous mouth. "Care to try?"

Tempted, Dove swallowed and looked briefly at Ben. He nodded his encouragement to her. "Go on," he said. "Give that young'un somethin' to kick about."

Jacob's hand rested lightly on the small of her back as he led her to the dance floor. Ben watched them go, with the resigned look of a man who had suddenly glimpsed the future. He gave himself a shake and clapped Clay on the back. "What're you doing over here, boy? You should be out there with that pretty little gal."

"Yeah." Clay mused grumpily, scanning the crowd. "If I could get near her."