by Bobbi Smith
“Yes, we had to get up early because she needed to buy some clothes before we went to the depot. I think she was up late last night, too, talking with . . .” The boy stopped abruptly, realizing he was saying too much.
“Was St. Louis your home?” Steve questioned easily, trying to mask the extent of his interest.
“No.” Christopher evaded the question.
“Where are you from? I grew up in Georgia.”
He could see no harm in telling Steve that much. “We’re from Philadelphia.”
“And you’re going to Kansas City? Do you have friends or family there?”
“No . . . uh ... I think I’d better wake my mother up.” Nervous, he hopped up next to her, startling her awake.
“Christopher? What is it?” For just an instant, there was a wild, hunted look in her eyes as she stared about the room trying to get her bearings.
“Steve’s back.”
“Oh,” she breathed, relieved that there was no trouble. She sat quietly for a moment, thoughts fuzzy. She found it hard to believe that she’d actually fallen asleep. She hadn’t had a good night’s rest since they’d been on the run, and she’d begun to doubt that she would until they were safely hidden in California.
“It’s going on seven. They serve supper in the dining room at seven-thirty,” Steve told her.
“I’d better freshen up then. I hadn’t really thought I’d be able to nap,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “I must look a fright.”
“You look lovely,” he said, watching as she rose from the bed with undeniable grace.
“That’s kind of you to say.”
Steve thought about arguing the point, but remained silent, his gaze gentle upon her. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the combs she wore and curls fell softly now about her face. As she moved past him, the light scent of her perfume wafted to him. It was a sweet, floral fragrance—delicate, yet sensual. Steve felt a stirring of desire, but denied it, concentrating on her widowhood.
Sarah was still tired, but a quick wash of her face and hands refreshed her. Retrieving her brush and comb from the luggage, she set to work on her hair. She tried to get a look at her dress in the small mirror, but a good view was impossible.
“Should I change my dress?” she asked Christopher. “Is it too wrinkled?”
Steve wanted to tell her ‘yes,’ that she should wear something pretty in a vibrant color that showed how alive and beautiful she was, but he kept his mouth shut.
“It’s fine, Mother,” the boy answered dutifully.
“I had imagined as much. This dress is nearly indestructible,” she said more to herself than to anyone in particular.
Steve fought an urge to announce he would gladly rip it to shreds for her, but he kept the novel idea to himself. Instead, he asked, “In case someone asks, whom shall we say you’re mourning?”
“My father?” Sarah suggested.
“Fine. I just wanted to make sure we had our story straight.”
“What about you? What do I tell people who ask me what my ‘husband’ does for a living or why we’re going to Kansas City?”
“Tell anyone who wants to know that after your father died, we decided to sell the family holdings in Georgia and head west.”
“Steve really is from Georgia, Mother,” Christopher put in.
“Oh?” She wondered how he’d managed to learn that bit of information. “Is that where your home is?”
“Not any more,” he answered. “I left some years ago, and I’ve never been back.”
“Why?” Sarah asked, hearing bitterness in his tone and wondering at it.
“There was no reason to. Everything that was important to me was gone. My family . . . my home. There was nothing to hold me there.” Steve blocked the memory of his father’s death and the discovery that the family plantation, Spencer Hill, had been heavily mortgaged. Steve had worked to save his heritage, but after a year-and-a-half of twenty-hour days, his crop had failed and he’d lost everything.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said gently, sensing the emotion behind his words. “I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.”
“I know you do.” Steve stared at her trying to understand why he’d told her so much about himself. He hadn’t spoken of the past to anyone in years, but something about Sarah made him want to share things with her even though she did not reciprocate. Jerking himself back to the present, he continued, “Tell anyone who asks that we’re going to try farming again, once we make up our minds where to settle.” He wanted to ask her where they were really heading but didn’t, remembering their agreement.
“That sounds fine,” Sarah agreed.
“Good. Shall we go to supper?” He opened the door and waited until she and the boy had stepped outside. He offered her his arm in the way of a gentleman, and she took it.
They walked together down the deck to the entrance to the dining room. The room ran almost the length of the ship. Light from the myriad of crystal chandeliers reflected brilliantly off the glossy white walls. The woodwork was painted white, too, and it was ornately carved. A plush carpet covered the floors and the dark wood tables were set with the finest of linen, silver, china, and crystal. They were shown to a large table where they were seated with another family. As soon as they were made comfortable, a waiter offered the menu of the day.
“Stanley Langford,” the graying, rotund husband announced in jovial good humor, making the necessary introductions over the dinner table. “My wife, Edith, and my son, Rob.”
Steve returned the courtesy with impeccable manners. The Langfords accepted the Johnsons without awkwardness or question.
“A pleasure, a pleasure,” Stanley Langford beamed.
The meal proved to be the best Sarah had had since leaving home. She and Steve had discussed what to order, and she’d been surprised to find he had sophisticated tastes. Steaming, tasty soups were followed by veal and dumplings with peas and roast mutton with new potatoes. Cold meats were served, too, along with such delicacies as champagne jellies and shrimp pate. The desserts, however, were the favorite course, especially for Christopher and the Langford boy, Rob. They indulged not only in several spiced apple tarts apiece, but each boy had a thick slice of rich chocolate cake. They finished the meal with an assortment of candies and nuts, and the adults enjoyed cups of hot black coffee.
“That was wonderful,” Sarah sighed contentedly. She sipped the steaming brew, staring at Steve over the rim of her china cup, studying him. The more she learned about him, the more intrigued she became. He was a mystery to her, and she couldn’t imagine why he’d needed to claim them as his family.
“It was delicious,” their dinner companions agreed.
“If we had a longer trip, we’d probably eat so much we’d sink the boat. What do you think, Christopher?” Steve teased as the boy continued to eat.
“Uh-huh,” he agreed, his mouth full.
“He must be growing,” Sarah added, and the adults chuckled.
“I know what you mean,” Edith sympathized. Her Rob was twelve already, and he was starting to grow quickly now.
Steve smiled, for it was the first time he’d heard Sarah laugh. He liked the sound a lot and wished he could get her out of mourning. She was young, beautiful, and very much alive, and he wanted to know more about her, much more. He was hard put not to ask the questions he’d promised earlier he wouldn’t.
“Sarah, please forgive me if I’m being too inquisitive, but I was just wondering who you were in mourning for?”
“My father.”
“I’m so sorry. Has it been long?”
Steve, listening idly to their conversation, realized this was his chance. He would force her hand. Certainly, he had nothing to lose and perhaps everything to gain. He spoke up quickly before Sarah could reply. “It’s been nearly a full year since we buried him.”
Sarah was stunned by Steve’s interference. She managed not to let her surprise show, and remained quiet as he went on to tell the other w
oman how they’d sold the family home in Georgia and were heading west now to start a new life.
“But to mourn for a whole year?” Edith clucked to Sarah in a motherly fashion. “You’re much too young and pretty for that. You have a wonderful husband and son, perhaps it’s time you put the sorrow of the past behind you and started looking forward to the future you and Steve have together?”
“I know,” Steve added, giving Sarah a loving look as he spoke. “I’ve been trying to convince her of that very same thing.”
“But I loved him very much.” Sarah focused demurely on a coffee stain on the table linen. “His death was tragic.”
“I’m sure it was,” the older woman said with empathy as she patted her hand. “But you mustn’t allow yourself to be buried with the dead. As much as it sometimes pains us to admit it, life does go on. Think about it, dear. You have so much to live for.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed slowly.
“Of course I am,” Edith declared good naturedly. “No doubt Mr. Spencer is longing to see you in something pretty again. How can you deny him that small pleasure?”
“It is difficult to deny him anything.”
“There’s a girl.” Edith Langford patted her again. “You won’t regret it, and I’m sure your father would understand.”
The conversation drifted on to other topics. When Christopher had finally eaten his fill, they said good night to the Langfords and left the dining room. As Steve escorted them back to their cabin, he waited for Sarah to bring up the subject of her mourning, but she didn’t. He’d expected anger and was surprised when she showed no sign of irritation.
When they reached the stateroom door, Steve unlocked it for them, but did not go in. He respected Sarah and wanted her to be as comfortable as possible with their arrangement. Since nighttime preparations would be awkward for her with him in the cabin, he gallantly offered to go.
“I’ll leave you for now. I’m sure you’d like some privacy to get ready for bed.”
“Thank you.” His gesture was surprisingly kind and thoughtful, and Sarah’s gratitude was heartfelt. She’d been worrying about the night to come and greatly appreciated his courtesy. It was going to be difficult enough getting any sleep with him in the same room, but if he’d insisted on accompanying them now into the cabin, she wasn’t sure how she would have managed to undress and bathe. “You’re very much a gentleman, you know.”
“It’s mostly because you, my dear wife, are very much a lady.” Steve stared down at her in the semidarkness. She looked beautiful in the flickering, mellow light of the lanterns and he battled a compulsion to take her in his arms and kiss her. Instead, he gave himself a mental shake and held the door for her to enter.
Sarah was mesmerized by the intensity of his regard, his mouth so close to hers. All she had to do was ... She started to sway against him then forced herself to draw back.
“My Aunt Blanche would be thrilled to hear you say so,” she said lightly, needing to fight off the sensual mood that had swept over her. “She certainly tried her best to make me into one.” Sarah moved passed him into the room, then turned to gaze at him. Again she was struck by his dark good looks.
Steve took a deliberate step backward to distance himself physically from her. “I’ll be back. Oh. . . . and be sure to keep the door locked while I’m gone.”
With that he strode down the deck, leaving Sarah behind, frowning as she watched him go. She couldn’t imagine what had caused him to suddenly act so strange. Stepping back inside, she bolted the door. She got Christopher ready for bed first and then herself, but all the while her thoughts kept drifting to her counterfeit husband. He’d been nothing but courteous and kind to them since intruding on their lives that afternoon. He certainly was handsome, too. If she had to pretend to be married to anybody, Steve was an excellent choice.
When Sarah realized the fanciful turn her thoughts had taken, she sternly reprimanded herself. She had known Steve Spencer less than a day! They would part company when they reached Kansas City the day after tomorrow, and they would never see each other again. That was the way it had to be. She finished washing and changed into her nightgown behind a small screen. After turning down the lamp, she slid into the bed, taking the side nearest the wall so she would be the farthest away from Steve. Christopher was waiting sleepily for her.
“Good night, sweetie,” Sarah murmured, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Night, Aunt Sarah,” he said in a sleep-husky voice.
Sarah didn’t correct him this time, but smiled at him tenderly as he rolled over and promptly fell asleep. She settled back and pulled the covers up to her chin. Flimsy as they were, they were the only defense she had. But lying in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, she thought about Steve and wondered how long he was going to stay away from the cabin.
Steve found a chair on the deserted deck and sat down to pass the time. The moon was lost behind a bank of clouds, and the night had grown dark. It was warm, and, for the first time since leaving St. Louis, he managed to relax. Leaning back and stretching his legs out before him, he stared across the river. He thought about the Dillons and what he would do if they did catch up with him. It wasn’t a pretty thought. The faint sound of music drifted to him as the steamer’s musicians struck up a melody for dancing, and he was glad for the distraction. He waited there for almost an hour, enjoying the distant melodies and the peace of the night, before starting back to the stateroom.
Steve had taken the key with him this time, and he let himself into the cabin. Not wanting to disturb anyone, he moved quietly, not bothering to light the lamp. He began to undress and had already shrugged out of his shirt and was starting to unfasten his belt, when he glanced toward the bed where the boy and his mother lay. Though he could barely see them in the dark, he was reminded of the Madonna and child, and it was then that he decided to sleep with his pants on. She deserved his respect. He sat down on the edge of the bed, took off his boots and lay down in the darkness.
Chapter Ten
When Sarah opened her eyes to the brightness of the new day, the first thing she saw was Steve. Naked to the waist, he was standing at the washstand shaving. Sarah had never seen a man so unclothed before, and she certainly had never seen one doing anything so personal as shaving. She lay in bed without speaking, fascinated by the play of his rugged muscles across the broad plane of his back. In the mirror’s reflection she could see his chest and her eyes widened at the sight of the mat of fine black hair that covered it. She lifted her gaze upward and studied his face. The soap lather on his jaw and chin gave her an idea of what he’d look like with a beard, and she decided rather whimsically that he might look quite like a pirate should he ever decide to grow one—a black beard that is, not a white, foamy one.
The thought of Steve as a pirate struck a chord within her. Out of nowhere, he had swooped into their lives like an avenging corsair on the high seas. Swept up by the whirlwind of his deception, she and Christopher had become pawns in whatever game he played. Yet, rather than resenting his interference, Sarah was almost grateful for it. Everything he’d done had coincided with her own needs. By brazenly claiming them as his family, he’d protected her from the two suspicious men, and last night his ploy before the Langfords had freed her from her mourning clothes. Sarah knew if the time ever came when they were at cross-purposes, she would stand up to him, but until then she would bide her time. Kansas City was two days and another night away. As she continued to watch him in the mirror, she acknowledged that, unlike a pirate, Steve had proven himself a gentleman. A strange twist of fate had brought them together—but why?
Christopher was already up and dressed, sitting on Steve’s bed talking to him as he, too, watched him shave. “How soon do you think I can start shaving?”
“How old did you say you were?” Steve asked.
“Nine, but I’ll be ten real soon,” he responded proudly.
“Well, I started when I was twelve, but I have d
arker hair than you do. It really depends on what color your beard is. If it comes in dark, you could be shaving in another year or two.”
“Oh, good!”
“You want to try it now? Just for practice?” he asked as he finished.
“Could I?”
“Here you are.” Steve offered him his soap, brush, and razor. “Put lots of soap on your cheeks so you don’t cut yourself.”
Christopher jumped off the bed and went to stand right before Steve at the washstand so he could see himself in the mirror. As his mentor had instructed, he lathered his face and then, after Steve had shown him how to hold the razor properly, he made the first swipe at his cheek.
“How’d I do?” he asked eagerly.
“No blood?” Steve took a close look at the young boy’s pink cheek.
“Nope.”
“Then you did fine,” he complimented him. “Keep going, but remember to be careful. If you make a mistake, it’s going to hurt.”
“I’ll be careful,” Christopher promised solemnly, turning back to look in the mirror again. He noticed a movement within the reflection and saw that his Aunt Sarah was awake and watching them. “Good morning, Mother. Look what Steve’s teaching me!”
“Good morning.” She’d been deeply touched by the kindness and patience Steve was showing her nephew. Christopher had been traumatized badly and he needed to know a man could be gentle without losing his masculinity. If Michael had been more like Steve, they wouldn’t be in this terrible position.
Steve had picked up a towel to wipe the remnants of soap from his face, and he turned toward Sarah. She looked so incredibly lovely with her sleep-flushed cheeks and early-morning innocence that he started to speak twice before he actually got the words out. “Good morning, Sarah. Did you rest well?”
