Authors: Kelly Clark
“Or maybe she just has a mind that you’ve gone half batty, riding around town and having a deep conversation with no one but yourself.”
Cal jumped in the saddle as a masculine voice that he recognized all too well resounded from his immediate left; lifting his eyes to meet the
sardonic
gaze of his brother, Stephen Hopkins.
Himself sitting astride Dallas, his prized ebony charger, the young rancher inclined his head in a show of apparent curiosity.
“Are you OK there, Pardner?” he asked Cal, his usually casual tone lined with genuine concern.
He jumped in his saddle as his brother met his concern with a hard, piercing glare.
“No actually I am not OK, dear brother,” Cal countered, adding with a cutting glare aimed straight in his kinsman’s direction, “and that situation is entirely your fault.”
Stephen sighed.
“Ut oh,” he released on a hard breath, adding as he shifted his feet in his stirrups, “You don’t like your mail order bride, do you? And so now you blame me for bringing her into your life in the first place.”
Cal shook his head.
“As seems to be usual as of late,
you, my
brother, are dead wrong,” he scoffed, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “I like Abigail far more than I ever thought I would. I’m beginning to wonder how I ever ran the ranch without her.” He paused here, adding as he spoke more to himself than to a watching Stephen, “I’m also
ponderin’
if I want to live my life without her. I think I might be
fallin’
for her—and it’s all your fault! Blast you, your varmint!”
Stephen pursed his full lips, narrowing his eyes as he seemed to consider this nonsensical assertion.
“Well, all things considered,” he began, tone thoughtful and deliberate, “Isn’t it a good thing to fall in love with your bride?”
Cal sighed.
“That’s the whole problem, Stephen. She’s not my bride,” he informed him, adding in a sad tone, “And at the way that things are
goin’
, she never will be my wife.”
Stephen gasped.
“So you mean to tell me that you, the dang gum deputy sheriff of this here town, is
livin’
in sin with a woman?” he asked, tone harsh and confrontational. “
Well,
no wonder ya can’t make peace with yourself. What would Ma and Pa say? What would your boss, the sheriff of this town, have to say? I did not place that ad so you could take a mistress, Cal….”
Cal had heard enough.
“Abigail is not my mistress!” he thundered, drawing startled gazes from two prim older women who crossed the
common
dirt road in front of them.
Tipping his hat in the direction of the ladies, who sniffed sharp and loud in return, Cal waited until they passed to turn with cold eyes in the direction of his still stunned brother.
“When Abigail first arrived at the ranch, we both agreed that we had no
true
intentions of falling in love, or for that matter of living together as husband and wife.
I told
her that I never could love anyone but Elsa, and as for Abigail?
Well,
she’s a lone rider. She didn’t want a man at all.
So we decided that she would work my land in the role of a ranch hand,” he explained, adding as he made a broad gesture in the air before them, “Then I had to get to know the woman, and she quite simply is the smartest, funniest, hardworking gal I ever did meet.
I
really
am beginning to like this gal, Stephen—but last night when I tried to kiss her, she plum broke away from me and ran from the room! You
would a thought
I had the croup!”
Stephen smiled.
“Chances are, brother, that you’re both a little skeered—and given your histories and life situations, that’s no surprise at all,” he paused here, adding as he graced his brother’s broad shoulder with a reassuring pat, “It is high time you faced the fact, though, that your sweet Elsa isn’t coming back.
Of course,
she will always live in your
heart, but
she of all people would never want you to live your life alone and miserable. Abigail is
here;
she’s alive; so why not give her a chance?”
Cal thought a moment, then nodded.
“I reckon you’re right,” he allowed finally, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “I’m just not so sure that she’s at all
willin’
to give me a chance.” He paused here, adding as he rolled his eyes heavenward, “As is almost always the case when we play poker, she holds all the cards.”
*****
The evening could not come quickly enough for Cal’s liking; and as he rode his trusty steed with purposeful strides through the tall steel gates of his ranch, his eyes scanned the landscape for any sign of the woman that he simply couldn’t wait to see.
When finally he spotted Abigail, herself riding in an emerald
leaved
meadow astride Gentry, her beloved chestnut mare, he dug his heels sure but gentle into the sides of his
own
ride; quickly catching up with her as he opened his mouth to issue her a hearty greeting.
This same mouth snapped shut moments later, as she saw him coming and ran.
“Ha!” Abigail summoned her horse, racing her mare into a steady gallop as the two
raced
fast and free across the meadow.
Immediately taking the challenge to heart, Cal urged his horse onward until he’d engaged his ranch hand in something of a madcap race; soon the couple rode neck and neck as they approached the door of the ranch house.
Bringing her horse to a dead stop in the grasses of the lawn beneath her, Abigail turned slightly in her saddle to regard Cal with cold eyes.
“We’d best get inside the house,” she told him, tone dry and noncommittal. “It’s high time for supper.”
Cal nodded.
“
Indeed
it is,” he allowed, adding as he inclined his head in her direction, “Before we chow down, though, I have a question for you. Would you consider
bein’
my date for the barn dance this Friday night? The one that Old Man Hodges is hosting at his farm on the south side of town?” he paused here, adding as he held his hands up before him in what seemed a defensive stance, “Now before you tell me to go to blazes and ride clean off my range, consider this. As the deputy sheriff of this town, I am expected to attend this dance—half to keep the peace,
half
to make an appearance on behalf of the sheriff’s department. Sheriff Michaels expects me to come—if I don’t, well then I could be out of a job!”
Abigail shrugged.
“Sorry to hear that,” she allowed, adding with arched eyebrows, “All the same, surely you know a lot of
pretty
young ladies in town. Why not ask one of them?”
Cal shook his head.
“As my brother Stephen reminded me today, Abigail, many people in town happen to think of us as husband and wife,” he reminded her. “I do not want the populace I serve to take me for a
cheatin’
cad. And I can guarantee you, Abigail, that if you agree to tag along to this particular dance, you won’t get stuck alone in the corner.” He paused here, adding in a loud and declaratory tone, “Nobody sticks Abby in a corner!”
Abigail had heard enough.
“Oh criminy,” she declared, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “No need to be such a cornball, Cal. I’ll go to the dag gum dance.”
Abigail came close to regretting these words a few days later, as she found herself poised at the
broad
apple red doors that fronted a massive, ably constructed barn; a structure that would be the site of a dance that she had no earthly desire to attend.
Dressed once again in that ancient torture device known as a dress, Abigail winced beneath the weight of a stern tied bodice that came darned close to cutting off her circulation; even as she did have to pause and admire the design of the dress itself.
A gift from her date for the evening, who had purchased the exquisite garment from a dress shop downtown, this exquisite frock boasted a full scarlet-hued calico skirt adorned with a pattern of bright yellow roses—appropriate, she supposed, especially when topped with a lush ivory cotton top graced with lacy sleeves and a high lace collar.
A pair of sleek ivory hand gloves and a
gold-tinted
heart shaped choker—also gifts from an attentive Cal—completed the look, which she wore with pride as she strode headfirst into the barn that had been morphed this evening into a social hall.
Her soft dark hair piled high atop her
head;
Abigail lifted her chin as she clutched her
smooth,
voluminous skirts and made her way between lines of people who talked, danced and nibbled on cheese, corncakes, and
bon bons
.
Several onlookers performed marked double takes as they identified the mysterious beauty who roamed among them; their eyes flying wide as they
identified
the lady as good
ol
’, hardworking Abigail Tompkins.
One
man, in particular,
stared
enrapt as Abigail came to stand stock still before him; his mouth falling agape as he beheld his date for the evening.
“You’re beautiful, Abigail,” Cal breathed, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “
Absolutely
lovely.”
Abigail snorted loudly, adding a very human dimension to her glamorous façade.
“Yeah, well don’t let it get around,” she chided, adding as she waved an admiring hand down the length of his
tall,
muscled
form, “And may I return the compliment? You are even more handsome than customary this
evenin’
Cal; how’d you manage that?”
Cal did indeed shine resplendent in
a fine
curved
cutaway coat with a red brocade vest and white cotton shirt underneath; also cutting
an exquisite
form in
black
pin-striped
pants and a smooth dark cravat that completed the look.
Also,
striking was the charming white toothed smile he now flashed in her direction.
“Well thank
you,
Miss,” he praised her, adding as he struck
a low
courtly bow in her
direction
, “On this night, though, I do not want you to think of me as Cal, the rancher and good friend whose land you happen to work. I want you to regard me as a
mysterious handsome
stranger who has swept
into your life
to show you the meaning of romance.” He paused here, adding as he clasped her hand in his and
led
her in the direction of the dance floor, “May I have this dance?”
Although still
surrounded on all sides
by bundles and bales of
fresh-sown
hay, the candlelit center of the dance floor proved an ideal platform for a couple who seemed to want little more than to lose themselves in one another’s arms. And with a single smooth flourish Cal launched them into a dance that felt more like a romantic embrace.
Abigail thrilled as her
ardent
date gathered her up in his muscled arms; wrapping his
sturdy
hands around her full waist and swinging and swaying her across the floor.
Bracing her arms around his bulging shoulders, she finally allowed herself the sublime pleasure of touching the man she’d admired for so long; pressing herself against his
hard massive
chest as his trim toned hips cradled hers.
Losing herself in his masculine presence, she relaxed in the cocoon of his
muscled
embrace as he made her feel as light as air; most literally sweeping her off her feet as he now flew her across the floor.
Two became one as the couple writhed together, timing their moves to the melodic rhythm of a live fiddler who played with fervor at the head of the room.
Abigail brightened at the
resounding
notes of “San Antonio Rose,” one of her favorite classic ballads, and she nestled closer to her
attentive
dance partner as his hands ran like
warm
spring water down the planes of her back.
She felt his tender touch even through the tight corset that threatened to claim her sanity; yet as they moved as one with feather light steps in time with a timeless tune, all elements of discomfort and self-consciousness subsided abruptly—giving way to nothing but feeling.
Closing her eyes tight, the besotted woman felt her heart pound as he clutched her closer still; soon it was difficult to tell where one
ended,
and the other began as they dissolved in a dance that likened an embrace.