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February 14, 1874
The dark circles beneath my eyes as I gazed into the mirror on Sunday morning gave mute testimony to a long and sleepless night. For hours after Hank had ridden toward town I had lain awake, thinking of how a man whose name I would never know had changed the entire direction of my life. When he had hurled a curse at me, his accent had placed his home well above the Mason-Dixon Line, and the tattered state of his uniform had led me to believe that Beth's attacker was a deserter from the Union army--one of the much-despised cowards who stayed far behind the lines to prey upon civilians and steal what little remained in the aftermath of a battle. Even though I sometimes wondered if he had a family somewhere that would never know what had happened to him, I had no regrets that a bullet from the bastard's own gun had sent his soul straight to Hell. Early that morning my parents had left home to check on Anna, whose husband was fighting with Lee's troops in Virginia, and if any of the servants who were working that day had seen or guessed what had happened out in the garden, they were too afraid of Ethella's reputation for being able to work "roots" to ask any questions. The fact that I had killed a man--and that Beth had been ruined--was a secret that only four of us had shared...a secret that we had never talked about again, even among ourselves. But ever since that Christmas Eve both Beth and I had shied away from males who weren't a part of our family--even those who we had known for most of our lives. I had been changed overnight from a young woman who had always enjoyed the company of men to one who was completely frozen on the inside. Even though no one had ever dared to say it to my face, I knew that many of the local men referred to me as the Ice Princess--as remote and untouchable as the top of Pike's Peak. No one would ever have predicted that out of all of the available males in Colorado the one who could warm and win my heart was the fiery-tempered owner of a saloon. And yet I had just placed it firmly into Hank's hands: told him my darkest and most painful secret--allowed him to kiss me--and admitted that I loved him. Jabbing another hairpin viciously into the upswept pile of curls atop my head, I frowned in frustration as my hair defied all of my efforts to tame it into something resembling the styles that Ethella had seemed to create so effortlessly. I was bored to tears with the severe coil at my nape and the braided loop that were the two ways that I always wore my hair whenever I left the privacy of my own home, but the arrangement that I had just attempted was already tumbling down and sliding precariously to the right. Suddenly I heard the jangle of harness, and my dogs were barking wildly. Glancing at the watch pinned to my bosom I saw that it was ten o'clock. Which one of my outlying neighbors had decided to pay me a call on the way to church and why? Afraid that something was wrong at the Miller's homestead, I hurried to the door, hairbrush still in my hand. "Mornin'." Hank flashed me a broad grin as he set the brakes on the wagon. I stared at him in stunned disbelief, taking in his starched and ironed white shirt, the immaculate, well-pressed suit that had obviously been tailored to fit him, a tasteful herringbone waistcoat, and his perfectly tied silk cravat. When he swung down from his perch I noticed that his good boots had been polished and shined, and his neck below the crisply edged line of his beard was freshly shaven. "Watch out ya don't get flies in yer mouth." He winked, coming up onto the porch and kissing me lightly. "Where in the world are you going, dressed like that?" I breathed in the clean, spicy scent of his soap. "Thought I'd come and take ya to church." "You what?" "The schoolmarm goes to church on Sundays...guess I'll start goin', regular, too." He shrugged. "I don't know if I'm ready for this," I protested. "For everyone in town to know about us." "It's Valentine's Day." He tilted my chin so that he could look into my eyes. "I wanna spend it with the woman I been sweet on for months." "We're the last two people in the world who should have ended up falling in love with each other." I swallowed hard. "You do know that?" "Don't matter much whether we should or shouldn't, we did--an' I wouldn't change it." His gaze held mine. "Been waitin' my whole life for you to finally come along. Just about give up on it ever happenin' when you stepped down offa that train." "I'm awfully glad that you decided to wait for me," I whispered. Heedless of the fact that we would be visible from the road, Hank pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing against mine. Coaxing. Firm and soft. First tempting...then demanding. Finally he raised his head, his eyes shining with an unmistakable hunger. "Willya be my Valentine?" The low, husky sound of his voice gave me the feeling that thousands of butterflies had invaded my stomach. "How could I possibly say no, when you've shown up at my door looking this handsome?" I tried--in vain--to keep my tone light as I rested my palm against the lapel of his coat. Our eyes locked again, then he took a deep, steadying breath and opened the door. "Let's finish gettin' ya ready--before we're late to Church." "My hair is hopeless." I caught sight of my lopsided hairstyle reflected in the mirror over the mantle and started jerking out the pins. "Looks like ya could use a little help." He smiled, pushing my hands away so that he could gently remove the hairpins himself. "Ethella could do absolutely anything with this mop of mine." I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the brush as he stroked it through my thick locks. "But it hasn't been cut since she died--nearly three years ago--and there's more of it now than I can manage. Would you happen to know if Mr. Slicker cuts women's hair?" "Slicker's never gonna touch this." The timbre of his voice turned those butterfly wings into open flames as he breathed in the scent of honeysuckle that I always added to the final rinse water. "Or any other part of you." We were silent as he coaxed my heavy mane into a mass of waves and curls, then picked up two tortoiseshell combs, anchoring the sides smoothly at the crown. Using his fingers he loosened some wisps to fall around my hairline, then deftly fastened my earrings through my lobes. "I suppose that I shouldn't ask how you learned to do this," I commented drily. "Probably not." He stepped back and eyed me critically. "Yer done." "I can't wear my hair down in public!" "Michaela does, often as not." He pinned my hat on at a rakish angle. "Yer in Colorado now--you can make up yer own rules." "Hank, I really don't think that I should..." "Do it as a favor to me--this once?" he requested softly. "I suppose that I might as well give them TWO things to gossip about." I sighed, relenting. When Hank and I walked into the church together I could hear the soft murmur of surprise that rippled through the congregation. Knowing that my cheeks had probably turned pink, I glanced at him in uncertainty. He gave me a reassuring smile as he waited while I entered the pew, then sat down next to me, nodding a greeting to those people who continued to stare. As we shared a hymnal, I discovered that his singing voice was rich and melodic, and much to my amazement he seemed to have most of the words to the songs committed to memory. For a moment I wondered if he had learned them growing up--or if he had been sitting on the porch of the saloon on Sundays, listening to the music. If my life had depended upon it, I would not have known what the topic of Reverend Johnson's sermon was at the end of the morning service. Try as I might to bring my mind to focus on his message, it kept drifting to the puzzle of the man sitting next to me. For a moment I flashed back to something that Mike had said after Hank had been shot, "...the one thing that I know about Hank Lawson is that no one really knows him at all." After the last couple of weeks, I had a strong suspicion that those might well have been the most insightful words that Michaela Quinn had ever spoken. Finally the service was over, and Hank escorted me out of the church, my hand resting lightly on his forearm. We stopped to shake hands with Reverend Johnson, and I smiled at the look of astonishment on the blind man's face when he recognized the barkeep's voice--and watched his expression grow even more perplexed as he realized that the two of us were together. Then we were at the bottom of the steps, and I took a deep breath as the crowd parted, and Grace rushed toward us. "Well, look at you!" she exclaimed, turning me around. "I have never in my whole life seen a more gorgeous head on hair! And to think, in all this time you never wore it loose 'til now!" "Caitlyn's simply full of surprises today." Michaela came over to greet me. "Is that a new dress?" "You've seen this outfit dozens of times." I glanced down in bewilderment at my conservative navy suit with its matching soutache trim on the bodice. "Must be your accessories make the difference?" Grace asked brightly, giving Hank a long hard look. "Afternoon, Grace. Michaela." He nodded politely. "Fancy seein' you in Church." Grace's gaze skipped over the cut of his suit, recognizing the quality. "Who died?" "Might be that I didn't," he offered quietly. "Hank?" Jake came up behind us, and when Hank turned to talk to his partner, Grace pulled me aside--Michaela following. "Would you mind telling me what you're doing here with HIM?" Mike demanded. "He asked me." "Have you taken leave of your senses?" Grace shook her head in amazement. "Hank nevers sets his foot inside church doors!" "Well...he's certainly here this morning." "I almost fell out of the pew when you walked in on his arm," Michaela admitted. "So did half the congregation," Grace said drily. "Perhaps coming that close to dying a few weeks ago gave Mr. Lawson a new outlook on life," I suggested. "What he told me was that he may start attending services regularly." "A leopard don't change his spots," Grace opined bluntly. "And that man over there didn't suddenly get himself some religion." "I'm afraid that I don't understand." I looked from one of them to the other. "It's always been my impression that the Church particularly welcomes someone like him. At least, that's the way that it was in the congregation where I came from." "It was never my intention to imply that Hank is not welcome here." Mike seemed flustered. "He is, of course. That goes without saying. What neither Grace nor I can believe is that YOU actually came with him." "He asked me if I would be interested in going to church with him this morning, and I said yes. How is that any different from either Mr. Lodge or Mr. Slicker escorting me to services? Or for that matter, Reverend Johnson or Mr. Bing taking me to supper?" "It's just different, that's all!" Michaela spluttered. "You two have been at odds practically from the first day that you arrived in Colorado. You were so furious when you discovered that those girls who work for Hank are whores that you marched over there and made a scene-- confronted him out in the middle of the street! Why on earth would you even consider spending time in the company of a man like that?" "He and Mayor Slicker both own the Gold Nugget. Whenever I've accepted Jake's invitations, neither of you have said one word." "D'ya think she could be comin' down with a fever, Dr. Mike?" Grace sighed. "Caitlyn?" Hank walked up behind me and touched my elbow. "You wanna stay and talk or are ya ready to leave now?" "I'm ready." I smiled at the two women. "I'll see you tomorrow." Hank offered me his arm, and I smothered a giggle when he put his hands around my waist and lifted me up into the wagon. Going around to the other side, he stepped on a spoke and swung himself onto the seat beside me. "I miss somethin'?" He gathered the reins in his hands. "Nothing but some friends of mine swallowing flies," I explained playfully. "Figured Grace and Michaela were givin' you a hard time 'bout bein' seen with me." "They're afraid that you're going to totally corrupt me." "Sometime down the road--when yer ready--I'm gonna do my very best," he promised, winking. "Perhaps I'll reform you instead." "Could be." He chuckled ruefully, lighting a cigarillo. "Starting with those." I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Grinning at me, he took a second drag off of the tiny cigar, then put it out and tossed it into the dirt. "Whatever the lady wants." "Right now 'the lady' wants you to drive," I admitted softly. "Every eye in that churchyard is on the two of us." Clicking to the horses, he pulled the wagon out onto the road. "Gotta stop by the hotel--won't take more'n a minute or two. Ya wanna come in?" "I'll wait." True to his word Hank returned quickly, a picnic basket over one arm and a sack in the other. Stowing them in the back of the wagon, he returned to his seat, flicking the reins lightly against the horses' backs and heading them in the direction of my land. "You're not seriously thinking about taking me on a picnic?" I asked in amazement, clutching my heavy cape more tightly around me. "It's practically summer. Must be close to 40 degrees out here." "Why is it that none of you seem to feel the cold the same way that I do?" I shivered. "Yer blood's thin." "Yours was, too, last night--or so you said when you were trying to manipulate me into inviting you to come inside." "Good food--a warm fire--and a few kisses from the right woman will cure anything." He flashed me a grin. "I'll pass that bit of medical wisdom right along to Michaela," I offered drily. "Anybody been brave enuff to tell ya that the worst of the winter's still ahead? That we get snow and ice in March and April? Sometimes May?" "Please--tell me that you're joking." "Wish I was." "A month from now every yard in Savannah will be filled with pink and white azaleas--the dogwoods will be in flower--and purple wisteria vines will be tangled up high in the trees. By mid-March everything is green, and the air is heavy with a perfume so sweet that you wish that you could bottle it," I wistfully described my former home. "After the spring rains I'll take you to see the columbine," he promised quietly, "Blue flowers coverin' whole hillsides...and you can smell the wind blowin' through the pines." "I would like that." I studied his profile for a long moment. "Whatcha lookin' at?" He glanced at me then back at the road. "You." "Thinkin' what?" "That I could probably spend the next fifty years trying to figure you out," I confessed, resting my hand lightly on his arm. "I'm willin' for you to give it a try," he answered softly, covering my hand with his and squeezing gently. "You're so different from who I thought you were that I'm starting to wonder if you make a deliberate attempt to have everyone see you in the worst possible light," I teased. "Why'd I wanna go and do somethin' like that?" He skirted around a direct answer. "Why don't you tell me?" Ignoring my challenge, he changed the subject. "Could feel Jake's eyes burnin' a hole in my back from the minute we walked inta the church 'til we left. He ain't even looked at a woman since his wife died, but he's sure as hell got an interest in you." "What happened to Mrs. Slicker?" I asked curiously. "All I know is that she died less than a year after their marriage." "They'd just found out she was in the family way, an' when she started hurtin' real bad and bleedin' heavy, her and Jake thought she was havin' one of them miscarriages." I caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. "Turned out, the baby wasn't in her where it was s'posed to be. Somethin' busted--filled up her insides with blood. By the time they got her to Michaela, she was already too far gone. Doc cut her open--tryin' to save her--but her heart stopped beatin' in the middle of the operation." "How sad." "Yeah." His voice held genuine regret. "It was. Jake was buildin' her a big house that never got finished, an' he won't even ride out that way since she died. Been thinkin' lately maybe I'd make him an offer on it. Hire Sully to help me do the rest of the work. Teresa woulda liked knowin' somebody got the good of it...that he didn't just let it go to rot and all fall down." "You considered her a friend." "She was a real fine lady." He nodded. "Best thing that ever happened to Jake Slicker." When he turned the wagon onto the rutted road to my place Zeke and Maggie came bounding toward us, their barking changing to joyful yips of welcome when I called out their names. Pulling up in front of the house, Hank unhitched the team and led the horses over to the corral so that they were free to graze. "Mind if I put on somethin' besides a suit before we eat?" He rifled through the cloth sack that he'd laid on a chair and withdrew a pair of pants and a shirt. "My bedroom's through there." I pointed at the door. Realizing too late that I should have directed him to the guestroom, I was suddenly inexplicably nervous at the thought of Hank being in my boudoir. Finally, I heard the doorknob rattle, and he was back, the top three buttons of a raw silk shirt left undone, his tight black jeans molded to the strong muscles of his thighs like a glove. "Pretty room--looks just the way I imagined it would." Blushing at the thought that he had "imagined" my bedroom at all, I gave him a nod of thanks. "I need to change, too, if we're going on a picnic." Standing with my back to the locked door, I looked around, trying to see the bedroom through Hank's eyes. My one extravagance had been money for wallpaper--a soft floral with a cream background--and deep blue velvet fabric from Mr. Bray's store, which I had sewn into draperies for the windows and a coverlet for the four-poster Rice bed that my mother had sent. Another of the used oriental carpets warmed the wooden floorboards, my dressing table was centered by an ornate gold-framed mirror, and over the mantle there was a recent portrait of me and my three sisters. It was a woman's room and yet not one so feminine that it would make a man feel uncomfortable... Shocked at the direction my thoughts had taken, I unpinned my hat, placed it carefully into its round storage box, and hung my cape and suit inside the wardrobe. Although practicality demanded that I choose something old and warm to wear to dine outdoors in February, my hand seemed to reach involuntarily for a rich, rose-colored wool dress. I took it down and held it up in front of me, noting the way that the color brought out my hair and complexion. The gown was a brighter shade than anything else that I had worn since my arrival in Colorado Springs--the scooped, princess-neckline definitely much lower--and I found myself slipping it over my head, wanting to look nice for Hank. When I came back into the living room I discovered that he had spread a quilt out on the rug in front of the fire, with a vase of dried flowers that he had borrowed from my table placed in the center. The picnic basket had yielded up cold chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, bread, pickles, and dried-peach fried pies, all of which he had arranged on my grandmother's best china while I had been changing clothes. "Whoa..." he exhaled softly from behind me, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding an open bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. Crossing the room, Hank set the wine on a low table and pulled me into his arms. "Ain't a woman nowhere can hold a candle to you," he whispered, his palm cupping my jaw as he slowly lowered his head to kiss me. When his mouth finally lifted from mine, I could feel the tension running through him--the restrained passion that bubbled dangerously close to the surface whenever he touched me. He pressed my head against his chest for a moment, and the pounding of his heart beneath my cheek matched my own racing pulse. "Com'on...let's have that picnic," he suggested softly. Leading me over to the quilt, he waited while I settled into a sitting position, then passed me my glass of wine. Despite the injury to his back he easily lowered himself to the floor, using only his powerful leg muscles. "Did you mean to have an indoor picnic all along?" "Fall in love with a Southern girl, ya gotta figure out ways to keep her warm and happy," he teased. "By plying her with champagne?" "Thought I'd get a head start on that 'corruptin' stuff." Hank grinned. "Many men have already tried...and failed." I flirted with him over the edge of my glass. "May be that I'm more stubborn than most." "You're more stubborn than anybody else in the world," I laughed. "An' mule-headed?" he chuckled, repeating my oft-used accusation. "That, too." "Think you could put up with me anyways?" "Do you mean that I have a choice?" I asked lightly. "Nah." His smile was warm and tender. "Yer meant to be mine, and we both know it." For a moment our eyes held, and I knew deep down inside that even though the claim had been made playfully, Hank's words were true--that in my heart, I already belonged to him. "Doesn't this frighten you at all? These feelings between the two of us?" "Scares the hell outta me," he acknowledged, glancing away. "I know how to pleasure a woman, but puttin' in words how I feel ain't somethin' I had a need to know 'til now." Flushing bright scarlet at his outspoken honesty, I busied myself with filling our plates. "You forgot to take the rest of that pie with you when you left last night." "My mind wasn't exactly on apple pie when I decided I'd best go." The corners of his mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile. "Neither was mine." Heat continued to stain my cheeks. "What would the good townsfolk of Colorado Springs say if they was to hear their proper Miss Caitlyn admit to that?" "They already think that I've gone completely mad. Didn't you notice all of the rustling and mumbling when we walked into the church together this morning?" "I halfway expected the Rev to stop and ask what the devil was goin' on." He grinned. "I should probably thank you for just showing up here right before church--without giving me all night to fret and come up with a thousand excuses for why the timing was all wrong for us to be seen out in public together for the first time," I confessed. "As much as I enjoy your company, I knew we would have to deal with everyone's disapproval, and I'm basically a coward at heart." "Ya got as much grit in you as anybody I know." "But I've been raised in a certain way--repeatedly warned that if a lady dares to step outside of an extremely narrow, prescribed code of behavior, she will be ruined for life." I sighed. "It's all that I've ever known. I'm sitting here right now feeling anxious because chances are quite good that someone from town will take it upon himself to see that you carried me straight home and didn't linger." "Want me to leave?" "No," I admitted. "Then 'I have more care to stay than will to go," he quoted softly. "Hell's bells..." I stared at Hank in amazement. "Where in the name of God did you memorize Shakespeare?" "Got the schoolmarm not only tryin' kissin' but cussin'," he laughed. "I'm a worse influence than even I woulda thought." "My brother beat you to the 'cussin' part years ago," I admitted ruefully. "John taught me how to ride, shoot, swim, climb trees, spit, fish, and swear--everything that a growing boy considers absolutely essential for a person to know in life. I was a regular hoyden. It took all of the patience that Ethella and my mother had between the two of them to finally make a lady out of me." "This Ethella you been talkin' about--she one of the slaves?" "I can't imagine someone having enough nerve to believe that they could even TRY to 'own' Ethella." I chuckled. "She always said that her ancestors were kings and queens in Africa, and I saw no reason to doubt her word. She came to Riverview from New Orleans with my grandmother when she was married--both of them 16--and Ethella worked there for wages up until the time that she died. But you didn't answer my question... How is it that you're familiar enough with 'Romeo and Juliet' to quote from it?" "Played Tybalt once when Dorothy got it in her head to have a play." Hank shrugged, tugging playfully on one of my curls until I leaned close enough for him to give me a gentle kiss. "By the time we's done rehearsin', I knew everybody's lines. Heard 'em enough, I oughta. Put me in a skirt, I coulda been Juliet." "Now THAT would have been something I would have paid to see." "Specially with Matthew playin' Romeo--and me 'bout a whole head taller'n him." He grinned. "I like this...now that it's more than just stubble." I ran my palm lightly down his bearded jawline. "Not too rough on yer skin?" "We'll have to do more testing before I can be absolutely certain about that," I answered with mock seriousness. "Always happy to oblige a lady." Hank kissed me long and hard, then pulled back and leaned his forehead against mine. "Well?" "Tell me again what the question was..." Chuckling softly, he tore off a sliver of chicken breast and held it to my lips, his eyes seeming to memorize the planes of my face as I ate from his fingers. "Can't believe that outta all the men in Colorado, I'm the one got dealt the winning hand." "I had already turned down the Mayor, the Bank President, the Minister, and a few of the local ranchers, so there was no one else left," I quipped. "You won by default. It had to be you." "Probably had half the men back home in love with you," he accused with a grin. "Do you think that I haven't noticed that the female passengers who get off of that train suddenly decide that they would rather stay in town instead of out at the Chateau once they catch sight of you?" "Didn't think you noticed me much at all." "You would have been rather hard for me to miss--since you've dedicated all of your spare time to fighting with me." "You oughta wear that dress more often." Hank dipped one fingertip into his wine, then ran it over my exposed collarbone before leaning down and tracing the damp pathway with the tip of his tongue. Shivering involuntarily as his long locks brushed teasingly against my skin, I breathed in the clean scent of sandlewood that clung to his hair. "Or maybe not," I whispered. Dragging me into his arms, his mouth moved over mine with an intensity that left me limp, my nerves shocked and burning under the heat of his touch as he slid his hands down my back. My heart pounding audibly, I felt my stomach knot in strange anticipation as his exploring fingertips stroked my waist, then curled back up and around my sides. I was half-drunk on kisses when I felt his palm softly cup the underside of my breast, his thumb and forefinger squeezing and rolling my nipple. "Sorry," he murmured, moving further away from me. "I made ya a promise, and I mean to keep it." My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I picked up the plate of chicken and held it out to him. "Want some more?" "Food ain't what I'm hungry for," he admitted honestly, taking a long swallow of champagne. "I'll put it up out of the way then." I nervously began to pack up the basket of lunch. "Caitlyn." He laid his hand lightly on my wrist, his eyes searching mine. "No way in hell I'd ever... I mean, I wouldn't... I'm just not used to havin' to remember to--be so careful where I touch." "I know." I felt my flushed skin turn even pinker. He kissed me again very gently, splaying his fingers against my cheek, then running them through my curls. One comb had slipped during our last heated embrace, allowing that side of my hair to fall down around my face, and he removed the matching ornament, laying it aside. "Might as well leave these out. We got a lot more research to do before we'll know if I oughta keep my beard or shave it all off." "That could easily take days," I agreed solemnly, stroking my finger across the soft blond moustache. "Possibly even weeks." "Least, kissin' the schoolmarm will give me somethin' to occupy my time 'til I'm strong enough to go back to work." He gave a mock sigh of resignation. "Too bad you can't find something more interesting to do," I teased. "I ain't complainin'." Hank grinned as he got to his feet to put more logs on the fire. "How did you happen to end up living in Colorado?" I asked curiously, watching him. "Signed onto a privateer at Wilmington day after I turned l5--an' didn't take long to figure out I wasn't meant for a sailor. Hated bein' cooped up on a ship nearly as much as bein' in a factor's office. I give my word to do six months, and soon as my time was up, first port we came to--down in Texas--I was gone. Seemed like good a place as any. "Mosta what I knew was horses, huntin', drinkin', gamblin' and whorin'--so I ended up in a saloon, makin' a livin' tendin' bar. Coupla years later I'd earned enuff playin' cards to buy my own place, so when a fellow come through in the summer of '55, talkin' 'bout this rumor he'd heard things were 'bout to bust wide open in Colorado Territory, me'n'Clarice headed north." "Clarice?" "Zach's ma." "You couldn't have been much more than a boy." "Seventeen." Hank returned to the quilt and stretched out on his side across from me, his head propped on his hand. "Turned l8 that September--an' Zach was born the next February. She didn't know we had a kid on the way 'til we was already on the trail. Had to push hard to get settled before first frost, but what with a baby comin' we had no other choice." "I can't begin to imagine how desolate Colorado Springs must have been l9 years ago." "Whole town was Loren's tradin' post--an' A.J.'s place. Man was a damned good saddle-maker, cooper, and blacksmith. Hated like hell to see him die--best saddle I ever owned, he made for me. First saloon I had stood 'bout where the Gazette is now. Wasn't much more'n a shack, but it was a roof over our heads while I built somethin' better. Clarice did all the barberin' 'fore Jake showed up, and get a man drunk enuff, I can pull a tooth if it's gotta come out. Between us all, we had mosta what folks needed. "Mainly that was trappers 'til '58--come into town maybe twice a year, pay for a hot bath, a shave and a haircut at the saloon, then spend a week--sometimes a month--enjoyin' the hospitality, spinnin' lies, and fightin' before they headed back inta the mountains. Up 'til the first gold strike, I was near 'bout one of 'em--I put meat on the table and traded furs to make ends meet while Ruby and Clarice worked the saloon. When miners started pourin' in I traded my buckskins for a tie, an' started servin' whiskey." "What was she like?" I asked softly. "Makes a man nervous for a woman to be askin' him about another one," he hedged. "Always ends up meanin' nothin' but trouble." "I'm sorry," I apologized. "There's no reason why you should have to talk to me about Clarice, if you don't want to. I was curious because she gave you a son--that's all. I didn't mean to pry." After a moment of indecision, he picked up his glass and finished the wine. "Zach's ma was already a workin' girl when I met her. Had been since she was l6. She was older'n me by ten years and taught me most of what I know about entertainin'. I put up the capital, but me'n'her was equal partners. May sound funny to you, with her bein' a whore, but she was a smart, honest woman...with a good heart." "Were you in love with her?" Already knowing the answer from the look of pain in his eyes, I felt a quick stab of jealousy. "Loved her much as I knew what love meant back then." He avoided my gaze. "She died, it hit me hard. I was mad at the world for an awful long time. Reckon some folks'd say I still am." "At least she left you with Zach." "Truth is, I didn't know much about raisin' a kid...but I wanted to do right by him. Boy needed a home, and with me workin' day and night I knew I had to find somebody I could trust to take good care of him." Hank absently traced one of the quilt squares with the tip of his finger, lost in old memories. "Ruby was gettin' long in the tooth to be whorin', so I finally figured the thing to do was buy a piece of land with a cabin on it and pay her to look after Zach. Never missed a week goin' out there to take her food and clothes and money, but I'd wait 'til after I knew the boy was in bed asleep. Told myself if he saw me he'd be whinin' and cryin', beggin' for his ma and wantin' to go back with me. But it was me who couldn't take it. Me who'd stand in the doorway watchin' him sleep, then go back and finish off another bottle of rotgut. I did the best I knew how by him--everything 'cept be a real pa. Everything 'cept makin' sure he knew I loved him. I wasted all that time--waited 'til it was too late." We were quiet for several minutes, then I moved to sit beside Hank, pulling his head down into my lap. He closed his eyes as I threaded my fingers through his hair, the tawny-told strands spilling over my thighs and onto the quilt. "Ever since I was a tiny little girl I've always known that no matter what 'sin' I had committed--whether I had chopped off my long braids so that I would look more like a boy or Ethella had caught me up in the apple tree practicing tongue-kisses with William Spratt--Daddy would only give an exasperated sigh and pull me into his lap for a hug. His love was one of those things that I could always count on. No matter what else in my life was falling apart, he was as solid and as steady as a rock," I said quietly. "I'm almost 28 now, and he's still my safe port in every storm. The one who I can always run to... I'll never outgrow the need to hear my daddy say that he loves me. And neither will Zach." "Can't remember my old man ever once sayin' he loved anybody. Specially me. In his eyes I didn't measure up. Never have. Never will." His jaw tightened. "Only one who gives a damn about me outta the whole bunch is Nana--my grandma." "Is your father the reason why you left home at l5?" I met his gaze. "Far and me...we were at each other's throats from the time I was a kid. Got to the point where I knew I had to go...that the next time he took a razor strop to my back I was gonna beat the hell outta him. Much as he had it comin', he was still my pa. So I left." "And never went back," I recalled our earlier conversation. "Ya see me puttin' on a suit every day, spendin' the rest o' my life under his thumb--wheelin' and dealin' for the best price on cotton?" he asked drily. "Your father is a factor?" "Him. Neils. Dyre. An' Lars. Brother next to me, Erik, made a lawyer. I'm the one nobody talks about. The lost black sheep of the Lausenstrom family." "Perhaps it's fortunate that I own a couple of herd dogs." I smiled. "Never get lost, if I had you to come home to..." His eyes locked with mine, and I was shaken by the longing in their depths--left wondering if my own gaze reflected that same open need. It was the first time that I had ever held a man this way, and yet it felt completely natural to bring his head down to rest in my lap--to stroke the soft curls away from his brow and to caress his face. I swallowed hard, momentarily afraid of how much I loved and needed Hank Lawson. "Practicin' 'tongue-kisses'--in a tree?" he chuckled, deliberately breaking the tension of the moment. "I've always had an interest in higher education." "Climbed high enough, you wouldna been caught," he reminded me lazily. "Was young William a good kisser?" "Compared to you, no--we were only two 12 year olds exchanging spit." Hank burst out laughing, rolling up into a sitting position and hugging me close. "It's not hard to imagine you as a Viking, Mr. Lausenstrom," I joked, studying his face for a long moment. "Standing at the helm of a longship...your hair blowing around your shoulders." "Invadin' Ireland?" He grinned wickedly. "Quite a few of those tall, blond, Norse kinsmen of yours ended up wrapped around the little fingers of tiny, dark-haired Irish maidens," I claimed smugly. "And went Viking no more." He brushed his lips against mine. "Probably 'cause they figured out there were better things they could be doin' with their time..." "What's your real name?" I snuggled into his arms. "Your birth name?" "Hans...same as 'John' in Norwegian." He shrugged. "But I been Hank Lawson for more'n half my life, and that's who I plan to stay." Smiling impishly, I quoted one of Juliet's lines from the Bard's play. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." "Thought you were complainin' I stink like tobacco." "That which we call a cigar by any other name would smell as foul?" I tested the adaptation out, then shook my head in mock-solemnity. "However true that may be, it's not what Juliet says--otherwise Romeo might well have shimmied back down that tree and disappeared, instead of kissing her on the balcony." "She couldn't have run him off no matter how hard she tried." Hank cupped my cheek with his palm. "Think not?" I whispered. "Not a chance," he opined, his gaze searching mine. "Man admits to the kinda feelin's he did, he's made up his mind that bein' with her is how he wants to live out the rest o' his days. He's hopin' to be the one she'll run to. Hopin' she'll let him be her safe port in all them storms." "I..." "I know it's too soon." He laid his fingers gently against my lips to stop me from saying any more. "All's I want is for ya to know where I stand. When the time's right for me to ask you proper, both of us will know." |
