Authors: Jo Goodman
Quill rubbed his jaw as he cast his mind back. “There were other incidents, more than my parents ever knew. Petty thefts. Extortion. Israel got better at what he did. It was usually some minor thing that tripped him up. There was talk of moving, but we never did. My parents received sympathy from the community, not censure. It was remarkable. No fault was ever attached to them. In fact, very little blame ever attached itself to Israel. I should also mention that he is engaging, charming, and extraordinarily likable.”
Calico put up a hand. “Just tell me this. Is he prettier than you?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Let me put it another way. Are you prettier than he is?”
“No.”
She sighed. “It’s hard to imagine, but it explains a good deal.” She tapped an earlobe. “The lamplight is dim, so it is difficult to judge, but I think your ears are turning red.”
Quill resisted touching them. If the light were any better, she would see that his face was flaming. He went on. “Israel left home at eighteen. He set out without telling anyone where he was going. We heard about a Buck McKay now and again but never thought we were listening to stories about Israel. McKenna. McKay. We should have known, or at least suspected, but that came much later. I already told you the kinds of things he was doing. He scraped by. He escaped by.”
“Didn’t you tell me your brother thought the Lord would provide?”
“That’s Israel. If it’s there, the Lord provided it for his taking.”
“I see. A somewhat twisted interpretation. Did you get him moved to a cell closer to your parents?”
“I did, but only because my parents agreed to pay for his board. Kansas was not about to pay to house him in a Cook County jail, and without payment, Cook County was happy to leave him where he was.”
“So you all work together to rescue him.”
“Oh, he does all right rescuing himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got off the train in Missouri.”
“Got off the—” She stopped because Quill was already nodding.
“That’s right. He escaped. Somewhere near Jefferson City is what I heard. And that’s the last I heard. He’ll surface again. He always does.”
Calico said nothing for a time. She did not hear bitterness, merely resignation. “Do you want me to find him?”
Quill’s answer was swift. “No!” A moment later, he said it again, more softly this time. “No. There are federal marshals looking for him. Let them find him.”
“Most of those lawmen don’t know the territory they’re appointed to. They probably won’t be successful. Is there a reward?”
“Not for the marshals. I believe they’re motivated by the fact that Israel escaped the custody of one of their own.”
“Oh. That’s embarrassing for them.”
“Yes.”
“Um, just because I have a curious nature, Quill, I was, um, wondering—”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“Oh.”
“Hardly worth your time.”
“I was not going to make time for it. I was curious, just like I said.”
“Uh-huh.”
She shrugged off his disbelief. “Why is the reward so small?”
“First, he’s never killed anyone. Second, to keep bounty hunters away. The marshals really do want to bring him in.”
“What about you? What do you want?”
“I want him to stop. Just stop.”
“And what do your parents want?”
“That’s easy. They want to save his soul. That’s the thing about faith. If you believe, if you really believe, you don’t surrender it for the likes of Buck McKay. If my father admitted that Israel could not be saved, it would make his life a bigger fraud than any ever perpetrated by his firstborn. He has never said that. He can’t. But I believe that’s what he thinks. It is no different for my mother.”
“Are they proud of you, Quill?”
“Sometimes I think they are, not that it’s ever been said, but Israel is the prodigal son.” He shook his head a little helplessly. “Or he could be if he ever went home.”
“Beatrice says you write to your parents.”
“Does she? I guess she would know. She carries posts to and from town.” Quill shifted his position on the bench, dropping one leg to the floor and stretching it out at an angle. “What about you, Calico? Was your father proud of you?”
“He was. He told me, too.”
“You never mention your mother.”
“I didn’t know her. Childbirth fever. I was only days old when she died. My father said she passed holding me in her arms. I was swaddled in Kelly green calico that she intended to use for a dress. She was the one who named me Katherine after her mother, but the way my father always told it, she died calling me Calico. That’s why I’m partial to it.”
“I like it, too.”
The curve of her lips was bittersweet. “I have a cameo brooch that belonged to her. I’ve never needed any other jewelry.”
“No, you don’t.”
She stared at him. “What you said earlier, about me going to where you are and telling you that you’re a good man?”
“Yes? You’re reconsidering?”
“Not reconsidering. I didn’t consider it before. I told you that.”
“So you are only considering now.”
“Actually, I just finished. I’ve made my decision.” She
did not tease him by sitting there another moment. She got up and went to him. He made a place for her between his splayed legs. She sat and took his hands in hers. “You are a good man.” She leaned in, found his mouth with hers, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “And while it pains me some to say it, I don’t exactly regret that you chased after me back at Mrs. Fry’s cathouse.”
“Careful, Calico. Compliments like that will turn my head.”
She leaned in again and whispered against his mouth, “We don’t want that.” She slipped her hands out of his and raised her arms. She draped her arms over his shoulders, fit herself to him when he pulled her close, and then kissed him until they were both breathless.
Smiling, she took one of his hands and urged him to his feet when she got to hers. She would have led him to the bed, but he never gave her the chance. Calico emitted a soft, girlish squeal when he suddenly picked her up.
“What was that?” he asked, straight-faced as he looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, the centers darkening. “Did you hear it?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Hmm.” He carried her the short distance to the bed and unceremoniously dropped her, satisfied when she squealed again. Quill stepped out of her reach when she sat up and tried to catch his sleeve. “Warm a place for me while I undress. And take off that robe.”
It was a reasonable plan and Calico went along with it. By the time he had stripped down to his flannel drawers, she was ready for him. She held up the covers just enough to let him slip under them. He immediately tried warming his icy toes between her toasty feet. “Stop that!” she whispered. A residual chuckle made the command less forceful than she would have liked. She quickly drew up her knees and gave his chest a little push.
Quill caught her by the wrist and gave her arm a gentle tug, setting it around his waist. He edged closer and her knees unfolded and made room for him beside her. His fingers
walked down her collarbone from her shoulder to her neck and then made a half circle to her nape. He found her thick braid and brought it forward. When he pulled at the black grosgrain ribbon securing it, she clapped a hand over his.
“You do not want to do that,” she said.
“I don’t?”
“My hair has a life separate from my own. It will be everywhere.”
“I accept the challenge.” He could see that she remained doubtful, but her hand fell away from his, and he removed the ribbon. He tucked it under her pillow and then began to weave his fingers through her plait, loosening it as he went. “I wanted to do this last night.”
Her voice was no more than a whisper, husky at the edges. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded, accepting it. “There were things I wanted to do and didn’t.”
His fingers stopped. Arrested by her confession, Quill’s eyes shifted from Calico’s flaming hair to her flaming face. “For instance?”
She tapped the hollow between his collarbones. “I wanted to kiss you here.” Her fingertips drifted lower, following his breastbone. “And here.” Her hand spread wide across his chest. “Here and here.” She curled her fingers into a loose fist and dragged her knuckles down his flat belly. His skin retracted as he sucked in a breath. She stopped at his navel. “Here, too.”
Emboldened by his silence and the steadiness of his stare, Calico’s fist opened as slowly as a blossoming flower and then her hand slipped below the waistband of his drawers. She followed the arrow of hair to his groin and stayed it there. She leaned into him just enough to set her lips against his, and said, “I wanted to put my mouth here.” And to make certain there was no mistaking her intent, her fingers closed in a fist again, this time around his cock. It twitched and swelled in her hand. Her eyebrows lifted and she gave him an arch look.
Quill said, “It has a life separate from my own. It will be everywhere.”
Calico’s fist applied pressure. “It better not be.”
It turned out that laughter was a considerably powerful aphrodisiac. They traded kisses and quips in equal measure. Either was capable of raising a chuckle or a groan. All of it was wickedly amusing.
She had her way with him. Quill did not even pretend to object when she straddled his hips. Her fiery hair, finally freed from the braid, hung in waves on either side of her face each time she bent to kiss him. She worked her way down his body, pressing her lips against his skin in all the places she promised and in some that she hadn’t. When he pointed that out, she told him frankly that his body was a canvas, her mouth was a brush, and she was overwhelmed by inspiration. His chest heaved with laughter, nearly dislodging her, and she was forced to clamp a hand over his mouth and ride it out. When he quieted and she removed her hand, he apologized for the distraction and said he hoped she would continue to be inspired.
Apparently she was, because she found a particularly ticklish spot on his chest and tortured him with the damp edge of her tongue. She also found another spot not far below the first that was raised and smooth and shaped like a starburst. She kissed it gently, tenderly, without comment, and then she moved on.
She lowered herself so she could she lay flush to his body and peppered his chest and belly with kisses until she disappeared under the covers. Her hands found him first and that was very good. Then she found him with her mouth and that was even better.
Her mouth felt almost cool against his hot skin. Blood engorged his cock. His pulse beat thrummed in his ears, in his chest, and where she held him with her lips. Curiosity motivated her exploration, but his pleasure kept her there. She sucked, licked, laved him with her tongue. She heard the sounds he could not swallow and the ones that lodged
in his throat. His hips jerked. She took him deeper. She cupped his balls and squeezed.
That was when Quill dragged her out from under the blankets. In a move she was helpless to counter, he had her on her back and secured under his weight. Her shift was twisted around her thighs, and she scrabbled with the fabric to yank it higher. He pressed his advantage only long enough to bury himself inside her. He levered himself on his elbows, hips lifting just a fraction, and then thrust hard and deep. She grabbed his shoulders for purchase, her short nails scoring thin crescents in his flesh.
Quill held himself still. He felt the effort of denial across his shoulder blades where the muscles in his back were pulled taut. He clenched his jaw. His nostrils flared when he sucked in a breath. He held that breath, heart hammering. The whole of his body was a single, jangling nerve.
Calico understood then that he was waiting for her. She did not know how she knew that, just that she did. She cupped the side of his face, drew her thumb across his cheek, and she smiled at him.
“Let go,” she said softly. “Let go.”
It was her smile as much as her words that did him in. She tripped the nerve and pleasure swamped him. His hips pumped shallowly. He threw back his head, neck and spine arching, and then he gave a shout that had Calico groping for a pillow as his body shuddered. She never used it. The tension that had held him together slowly seeped away and he lowered himself onto her.
“God,” he said softly. It was as much an expulsion of air as an expression of astonishment. “Was that all Mrs. Riggenbotham’s doing?”
Calico sifted through his hair with her fingertips. “Her accounts were descriptive, but the whores at Mrs. Fry’s were also instructive.”
“So it would seem.” He chuckled when she rapped him on the shoulder with her knuckles. He started to ease away from her, but she stopped him.
“Not just now,” she said.
“I’m too heavy for you.”
“Not just now you’re not.”
He nodded, but he was still careful not to crush her. “Do you ever think about Nick Whitfield?”
“No more than any other man I helped put behind bars. Why?”
“I wondered if he might not be a little more special than most.”
“Special? Why would he be?”
Quill sighed. “Because he’s the reason we met.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
She tipped her head, trying to see his face better. “Are you disappointed?”
“Just wondering how you thought about it.”
Calico smoothed his hair with her palm and then wound her finger around a thick strand at his nape and tugged. When he lifted his head, she said, “I guess I don’t think about it. I’m sorry.” And she was. The thing that was on her mind, the thing she did think about but would not allow herself to say, was that she and Quill were meant to cross paths. It would have happened with or with Nick Whitfield. She believed that some things were destined; she did not believe that meant they were forever.
Calico slipped out of bed first and went to the bathing room to wash. Quill was standing outside the door when she came out. By the warmth of the room, she could tell that he had stoked the fire. She moved aside to let him in and went to the fireplace. It was not long before he joined her there. He stood behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He rubbed his chin against her hair. His stubble created static. Single strands of her colorful hair separated themselves and were lifted into the air. They both felt a shock. He jerked his chin up. She ducked her head.