Something Like Love

by Beverly Jenkins

  As she pushed her way through the doors, applause broke out behind her, but she didn’t stop.

  Sure that steam was pouring out of her ears, Olivia returned to her shop. As a Christian woman, she regretted her loss of control. Pouring a pickle barrel over Malloy’s head had not been the most charitable thing she could have done, or the most ladylike, but he’d deserved the dousing. Olivia had always harbored a temper, but because society demanded women suppress those parts of their personalities, she’d worked hard all of her life to keep it hidden. Not today. Today she’d had no control. This was the same lack of control that had fueled her decision to sell her shop and leave for Kansas. Her father had encouraged her to ride, read, go to Oberlin, run her own shop, and take pride in all of those accomplishments, yet he’d expected her to go meekly into the marriage he’d arranged because that is what females were supposed to do. Underneath it all she loved her father, but apparently it had never occurred to him that the unconventional way in which he’d raised her might butt horns with his desire to make her a traditional wife. Maybe temper in a woman is good thing, she decided. It certainly let men like Malloy and her father know that she was not to be taken lightly. In the end, Olivia wasn’t sorry about what happened with Malloy at all; her only regret was that the pickle barrel hadn’t been larger.

  Later that afternoon, the sheriff stopped by her shop. “Heard you had a run-in with Armstead Malloy.”

  Olivia set aside the fabric she was pinning onto a dress form. “Yes, I did.”

  “He’s filed an assault complaint.”

  “He should be glad I didn’t take a bullwhip to him after what he accused me of.”

  “So I heard, but next time can you come to me first, please, and I’ll handle it.”

  “It was my reputation he smeared, Sheriff. Not yours.”

  “I understand that, but I can’t have you pouring pickles on somebody every time you get mad.”

  She turned and faced him. “Have I ever done anything like that before?”

  “Well, no, and frankly, the people in the store were real surprised. Miss Olivia, town committee member and Sunday school teacher, waking snakes—we’ve never seen this side of you.”

  Olivia chuckled at his reference to waking snakes. The phrase meant causing a ruckus, and it had become one of her favorite plains sayings. “That’s probably because I’ve not lived here long enough, nor have I ever been publicly slandered before. Had I been a man, I would have called him out.”

  “Had you been a man he couldn’t have made the accusation.” He smiled. “So, now that you’ve shown your true colors, I’ll be adding your name to my list of unruly females.”

  Eyes sparkling, Olivia asked, “Who else is on it?”

  He thought about the question for a moment, then said, “Let’s see. There’s my wife. Sophie. Sybil Whitfield. The Two Spinsters. Did I already mention my wife?”

  Olivia thought Chase Jefferson was the best sheriff a town could have. “I’d be honored to be in such august company.”

  “Don’t doubt you would,” he replied, chuckling, then added, “but no more pickle fits. I’ll speak to Malloy about his mouth and about dropping the charges.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff, because pigs will fly before I give him an apology.”

  “Duly noted.” Chase headed toward the door, then stopped, as if he’d remembered something else he wanted to say. “Oh, the Terrible Twins and their friends stuck up a gold train a few days ago.”

  Olivia found the news disappointing. “They didn’t hurt anyone, did they?”

  “Just the pride of the army and the railroad. Even with Pinkertons posing as passengers, the Twins got away with the strongboxes. Warrants for their arrest came over the wire late last night. The railroad’s offering a king’s ransom for their capture.”

  “How much?”

  “Thousand dollars. Dead or alive.”

  Olivia’s heart sank. “That means bounty hunters, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep, but they’ve been after the Twins for years. So far only one has ever brought them in. Man called the Preacher.”

  “Were they sent to prison?”

  “Nope. Busted out of the jail the night before the judge arrived. Trial was never held.”

  Olivia shook her head in disbelief.

  Chase added, “So, if Neil and his brother come back this way, the marshal in Topeka will be expecting me to arrest him.”

  Olivia met his eye without guilt. “Of course, but I doubt Mr. July would be that reckless.”

  Chase was silent for a moment, then said, “Beautiful woman will make a man do all sorts of crazy things.”

  Olivia stared. Surely he isn’t implying….

  He touched his hat and with a smile, was gone.

  For the next few moments, Olivia stood in the silence, thinking about the sheriff’s departing words. Would Neil July really come back here—to see her? Deep down inside she found the prospect thrilling, but common sense said no. He’d been robbing banks a long time, and she assumed he and his brother would find a safe place to hide until the smoke cleared rather than risk returning to Henry Adams and maybe be arrested.

  Apparently Sheriff Jefferson thought otherwise. Had July said something about her to the sheriff to make Jefferson say what he had? July had promised to return her mother’s cameo and you still owe him a kiss, a voice in her head offered as a reminder. Olivia pushed the voice aside. Neil July was a man with a price on his head; she’d probably never see him or her mother’s cameo again, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, the knowledge saddened her.

  Over the weeks that followed Olivia spent all of her days and many of her nights sewing for her customers and helping spruce up the town in preparation for the Elders Ball. Centerpieces had to be made for the tables, dishes for the potluck had to be coordinated, musicians had to be found and auditioned, decorations for the new town hall had to be fashioned, and because Olivia was on the ball’s organizing committee, much of the overseeing fell on her shoulders. She didn’t mind—not really—but she was looking forward to the night of the ball and the end of her involvement so she could keel over from exhaustion.

  The night of the ball finally arrived. Olivia was seated on her back porch, which faced the open plains, listening to the lively music and the happy voices of the celebrants over at the spanking-new town hall floating on the air. Granted, she would have preferred to have been there in person as opposed to sitting home alone, but she’d made up her mind not to be one of the unmarried women relegated to serving the attendees punch and cake; all the pitying looks she’d received last year had left her depressed.

  So this evening she was in the old rocker on her back porch. She had a cold tumbler of lemonade sitting on the upside-down barrel she used as the porch’s table, and in her pocket was the letter she’d just written to her mother. Now, with the day’s chores behind her, she just wanted to relax and listen to the sounds of the celebrating.

  Last year’s ball had been held on a Saturday night and had gone on until the wee hours of the morning. As a result, folks were so tuckered out from the good time, very few had shown up for church. Out of respect for Reverend Whitfield—and because no one wanted to hear another fire-and-brimstone sermon on the Responsibilities of Church Attendance, this year’s ball had been moved to a Friday night in the hopes of everyone recovering in time to say their amens come Sunday morning.

  Olivia had been in Henry Adams less than a year now, but even she could recognize the sounds of Handy’s expert fiddling. No one in the valley could match his skill on the instrument. The lively tune he was sawing at now made Olivia tap her feet. The music captured her, and before she knew it she was up and dancing in the darkness. Claimed by the spirited music, she was soon waving the hems of her skirts and thoroughly enjoying her play. All around the porch she went, twirling past her barrel table and the old overstuffed rocker. She stepped in time to the fast-paced jig and was soon laughing aloud. She turned her back and sidestepped across the porc
h. She turned again and froze at the sight of the man leaning against the house. It was Neil July, and Olivia could neither speak nor move.

  He touched his hat. “Evenin’. Mighty fine dancing.”

  In an awe-filled voice she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Came to see how you were faring.”

  “I—I’m fine.”

  “I’m fine, too.”

  Olivia admitted that she’d been secretly hoping for another encounter with him, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he’d appear this way, seemingly out of nowhere. The dark coffee skin, the vivid eyes, the lip-framing mustache; he was everything that good women were supposed to run for the hills from. He was an outlaw, for heaven’s sake, but the urge to know him better was strong. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  He pushed away from the wall, and his shadowy form came closer. “Why not?”

  Olivia’s eyes brushed over his gun belt, his double-breasted leather shirt, and the way the leather trousers hugged his hips and thighs. She forced her attention back to his face. “Sheriff Jefferson says the marshal down in Topeka wants you arrested.”

  “Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Olivia’s heart was beating so fast.

  Neil feasted his eyes on the tall, beautiful Olivia. He had no idea why he’d come. Shafts had declared him loco for wanting to ride to Henry Adams instead of directly to Indian Territory to lay low and visit with their sister Teresa while the Pinkertons chased their tails looking for the stolen gold. In the end, Shafts had opted for the territory and Neil had ridden on alone, still not sure why, but driven by an unknown force to see the seamstress. And here he stood, bewitched by a woman he barely knew and he’d found her dancing. “Usually after a job I head for a hole in the wall, but for some reason, I had to see you first….”

  The soft, sweet power in his voice and words closed her eyes. “You should go, Mr. July….” Those were the words she was supposed to say, even if she didn’t mean them.

  “I will, in a minute.”

  The sounds of the celebration could still be heard, but to Olivia they seemed miles and miles away.

  “Brought you something.” He slipped his hand into his shirt and withdrew her mother’s cameo.

  On shaking legs she walked over to the edge of the porch, then stepped down into the moonlit grass. She held out her hand to take the broach, but he shook his head and smiled. “Turn around,” he said.

  She did, and he gently draped the indigo ribbon around her neck and tied a tiny knot in the two ends. The cameo had been given to Olivia by her mother on Olivia’s eighteenth birthday, and she was pleased by its return. She faced him again, and all she could see and feel was him.

  The slow ballad now rising from Handy’s fiddle replaced the lively tune she’d danced to earlier, and the pure, flawless melody rode on the night’s gentle breeze.

  “Dance with me…and I’ll go.” Neil wanted so much more, and not all of it had to do with physical attraction. He wanted to sit with her, talk with her; hear about her childhood, listen to her dreams. In reality they were strangers, but deep down inside, hidden parts of himself were surfacing to let him know that he knew her. In many ways he wanted to jump on his horse and ride away as fast as he could. Olivia was a life-changing woman; a woman capable of making a man lay down his guns just to please her, and that scared him to death. On the other hand, the smell of her lavender perfume was as vivid in his memory as the softness of her brown skin the one time he’d stroked her cheek. Life-changing—but he held out his arms to her anyway.

  Olivia hesitated. Would she be a changed woman when the dance was done? She was no child; she knew the answer and went to him willingly.

  When she placed her hand into his, every inch of her was shaking. His hand was large, the fingers long. The gentle hand resting against her blouse-covered back unleashed a warmth that snaked up her spine and slowly fanned out across her shoulders and down her arms.

  They began to waltz. His steps were flawless, and once again she was surprised by the outlaw Neil July. He danced with the skill of a Haitian prince. “Where did you learn to waltz?”

  “Indian school. They thought teaching us to waltz would make us forget our culture.”

  “How long were you in school?”

  “Long enough to know that many of the teachers hated us even more than we hated them.”

  Soon they were moving all over the yard, and she matched him step for step. Olivia loved to dance and knew she’d remember this particular moonlit night forever. She smiled up into his sparkling eyes, and in response he grinned and began to twirl her, faster and then faster, until finally he slowed and they were no longer moving. The world seemed to have slowed as well. When he raised her hand to his lips, then gently kissed the tips of her fingers, Olivia’s knees went weak.

  He raised her chin so their eyes could meet in the dark. “You owe me a kiss….”

  She couldn’t speak.

  He leaned down and kissed her, no warning, no chance to say no, and she let it happen; let the warmth of his mouth settle onto hers, showing her what it meant to be kissed by a man. Heated, feather-light brushes of his mouth over her bottom lip and the trembling corners of her mouth made them part. Passion swept through her for the very first time in her life. He slid his hand around her waist and eased her close enough to feel his hard frame singe her through her clothing. After a few more passion-filled moments, the sensations became too much for a woman who had no experience with men. Olivia dragged her mouth from his and backed away dazzled, dizzied, and breathless.

  The moonlight caught the glitter in his eyes, and she didn’t know what to do or say. She now understood what Cara and Mrs. Whitfield meant about certain men making a woman break every code; Neil July was one of those men. For the sake of herself and her reputation, she couldn’t see him again.

  The kiss left Neil just as moved. Every male inch of his body wanted more; now. He wanted to ride with her across the moonlit plains and kiss her until the rising of tomorrow’s sun. It was not to be, however; she was a good woman and he was a wanted man. By all rights he should go. He’d returned her mother’s cameo, and the memory of her kiss would resonate for a lifetime, but he didn’t want to go. “Will you sit with me a while, Olivia?…”

  With his kiss still echoing within her, Lord knew she wanted to say yes, but what if they were seen? She’d already been subjected to Armstead Malloy’s vicious tongue; she didn’t want to be gossiped about again. But being with him out here in the dark made her feel like Eve in the garden standing before the tree of forbidden fruit. Instead of denying his request, she asked, “Will you promise to be a gentleman?”

  Amused by the question from this good woman, Neil replied, “Seeing as how I want to kiss you again…all I will promise is that I will try. How’s that?”

  Olivia was certain that Neil July was dangerous in ways she was too naive to recognize. She knew nothing about the heat between a man and a woman because it was not something she and her mother had ever discussed. From her limited experience, it was apparently something no women ever discussed. She suddenly needed a cold drink. “Would you like some lemonade?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I would. Thank you.”

  “Take a seat and I’ll be back shortly.”

  Olivia went into the house and poured him some from the pitcher in her icebox. As she poured a fresh tumbler for herself, the voice of reason in her head asked if her brain was addled. In a way, she believed it was. No self-respecting woman would be entertaining a wanted criminal on her back porch, let alone offering him lemonade.

  Neil took the cold metal cup from her hand and took a sip. The beverage was tart but sweet—just the way he liked it. He noted that she’d taken a seat in the rocker instead of sitting on the porch by his side, but he didn’t mind; the kiss they’d shared would breach any distance. “Why’d you come to Kansas?”

  “To escape an arranged marriage.”

  Neil t
urned and studied her in the dark. It was not the answer he’d been expecting. “Why didn’t you want to marry?”

  “The man didn’t value me, and I doubted he ever would.”

  Neil said, “My da once told me that a woman who knows her own mind is worth more than gold.”

  Olivia thought his da was very wise. “The man set on marrying me would probably disagree.”

  “Did your parents approve of you coming out here?”

  “My mother did—does, she and I correspond regularly. My father—he doesn’t know where I am.”

  Neil went still. “Why not?”

  “Because I ran away from home. Can you imagine, at my age.”

  He thanked the ancestors for the full moon. It helped him see her face. She was smiling. “You must have been very upset to come all this way.”

  “I wanted to be far enough away that my father couldn’t find me.”

  He laughed softly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re one of those rebellious females.”

  She grinned and shrugged. “I suppose I am, but I refuse to be treated like a potted plant. It isn’t how I was raised.”

  “How were you raised?”

  “To read the weekly papers, to go to school and then to Oberlin.”

  “You went to Oberlin?”

  “Yes. Finished the woman’s program and found that my graduating certificate qualified me to do very little besides marry, so I returned to the dress shop I had been working in since adolescence. When the owner died, she willed the place to me, and suddenly I was a businesswoman.”

  Neil was impressed. She was not only beautiful and articulate but also intelligent and smart enough to know her own worth. “So now you are in Kansas.”

  “Yes, and enjoying living my life on my own terms.”

  “So am I.”

  Olivia had to ask, “Did you really start robbing trains to feed your family?”

  He nodded.

  “Are your people that destitute?”