Lips That Touch Mine

by Wendy Lindstrom

  "Maybe I'll dream about the cantata tonight," Anna I said, heading upstairs.

  "That's a grand idea." Claire followed Anna, hoping she could think about the cantata too. Or lose herself in her grandmother's journal. Anything that would turn her mind from thinking about those wretched intoxicated men or about Boyd spending the night with the beautiful and exotic Martha.

  She and Anna helped each other out of their dresses and bade each other goodnight. Claire slipped into her nightrail and a heavy velvet housedress, then took her grandmother's journal and crept back downstairs to the parlor.

  Claire was glad Anna had enjoyed herself at the cantata; she was entitled to a bit of enjoyment, and it pleased Claire to have had a share in giving her some pleasure. She hoped Larry would spend the rest of his wretched life in jail, because Anna wouldn't find happiness otherwise. A man like Larry would not let his wife go. Anna was his possession, and the only thing keeping Anna safe were the locked bars of a jail cell.

  Weary, Claire settled into the rocking chair, feeling she was engaged in an unending battle. First it was her own battle with Jack. Now it was Anna's battle with Larry, and her own battle to keep the boardinghouse open.

  Her father had called her rash and reckless from the time she'd begun to walk. She had stumbled into life with wide-eyed wonder, grabbing and grasping at anything that promised excitement. She'd taken dozens of foolish risks in her life: climbing the highest trees, slipping into the elephants' tent at the circus, running off with the first dashing rakehell to cross her path. How foolish she'd been. How incredibly poor her judgment.

  With her history, was it any wonder she was putting her own safety on the line for Anna? Was it any wonder she was attracted to Boyd Grayson?

  She sighed and opened the journal. She didn't want to think about her faults, or about what Boyd and Ms. Newmaine were likely doing at that very minute.

  But in the glow of her parlor fireplace, Claire imagined his naked shoulders flexing in the shadows, his dark head dipping to kiss Martha's lush mouth, her slender neck, her full breasts...

  He would be a good lover. Instinct told her that. He would be slow and purposeful, as exacting in his lovemaking as he was in his carving. His eyes would sparkle, and he would kiss and tease and make Martha feel like the most special woman in the world.

  But tomorrow he would flirt with the first woman to cross his path.

  Jack had.

  He introduced Claire to the intimacy shared between a man and woman. He gave her pleasure but reveled in the power of controlling her response. She shared her heart and her body with Jack, had forgiven him so many offenses during their lovemaking, but it hadn't been enough for him.

  For Jack, the novelty had worn off in months. He moved on to new women and more exciting challenges.

  He never understood how deeply it hurt her knowing he was warming other women's beds, that he desired them while still making love to her. He said a wife didn't question her husband, and as his drinking grew worse, she learned not to question.

  But memories carved a ravine through her heart as she sat alone in her parlor. She didn't want to think about Jack or lovemaking or the feeling of helplessness that washed over her each time her mind slipped into the past. The pain of his betrayal had scarred her. His unstable personality had left her wary and afraid.

  Here in the safety and solitude of her home, she could finally face the truth. Jack had shattered her dreams along with her heart. His violent temper and cruel comments had wounded her, but his tearful apologies and solemn promises hurt her the most. He had given her hope where there was none. He made her believe he could become the man she needed him to be.

  After beating her, he would storm out of the house. Within an hour he would be back, repentant and begging her forgiveness. It sickened him to lose control of his temper. The decent and sincere side of Jack's nature struggled to assert itself against the cruel drunkard who was ruling him. But his need for alcohol was too strong, his will too weak, and it destroyed both of them.

  Jack hadn't just left her scared. He left her empty and aching, unable to trust or believe in love. He silenced that youthful, hopeful part of her, and that was the worst sin of all.

  Claire's chest tightened, but she refused to weep any more tears for Jack or herself. She'd cried a river of them during her marriage. It was time to move beyond her loss and sorrow.

  But she hurt too much tonight, felt too lonely to see any joy in her future. Watching Boyd and Martha together had been painful. She wanted love and passion in her life. But she needed safety.

  She opened the journal, wanting to understand her grandmother's affair and why two seemingly honorable people had lost their way. Maybe her grandmother's story would help Claire understand her own confusing feelings about life and love.

  I begged Abe not to leave me. I was beyond shame. I was desperate. I couldn't lose him. I couldn't face each day without his smile, without the stolen moments that kept us alive. I needed Abe and I begged him not to end our affair. He asked me to meet him the next day in the meadow on Barry Road.

  I left early in the morning after Joseph had gone to work. I walked down Barry Road, then ducked into a stand of trees. From there I Picked my way to the far edges of the fields, praying nobody would see me. I climbed down a creek bank where I was hidden from view. Then I followed the creek until I saw Abe sitting beneath a stand of leafy maple trees.

  We were hidden there, far away from prying eyes. I longed to run to him, to rush into his arms and never let him go. But it was August, and I was flushed with heat. I stopped on the opposite side of the creek and dipped my hands into the cool water. Abe watched me wash my warm cheeks and cool my heated neck. I unbuttoned my bodice and trickled water between my breasts.

  He stepped into the water and walked toward me, his eyes dark and intense. I knew we would cross that last threshold today, but I couldn't turn away, couldn't deny either of us our one moment in time.

  He stopped before me, but didn't speak. He didn't need to. I could read the love and desire in his eyes.

  I released another button.

  Abe took off his wet boots.

  I opened my gown, and he slid it off my shoulders.

  We made love beneath the maples in a bed of fragrant summer grass and clover. Our emotions overflowed and we wept because there was too much to express. We loved deeply and desperately, believing our first time would be our last time.

  Abe held me against him and told me he'd fallen in love with me the first time he'd seen me in my kitchen. It was the day after Thanksgiving and I was wearing a green dress when I offered him a sandwich for lunch. He wasn't hungry, but he'd said yes because he couldn't bear for me to leave the room.

  Despite its heavy fabric, I wore the green dress the next time I met Abe in the meadow. Skin to skin, we savored each other, capturing tiny details with each second that slipped by.

  I can still picture Abe's eyes that afternoon, as blue as the sky above us. His shirt was a worn and faded green like the grass we were lying on. His cheeks were sunburned and he needed to shave. The skin on his shoulders felt smooth beneath my palms, his hip muscles flexing beneath my hands as he loved me. Oh, how he loved me, this man of my heart.

  Claire closed the book with a snap. Her stomach felt tight, and an ache throbbed deep in her heart. She wanted love and passion...a man who would love and cherish her as much as Abe had loved her grandmother. The journal was proof that love existed.

  But that depth of love required immense trust—something she was no longer capable of.

  She was alone in her boardinghouse with a woman who reminded her that it was safer to live a lonely life. There were too many men like Jack and Larry in the world. With her poor judgment, she would be more likely to find another Jack rather than an Abe.

  Sighing, Claire took the journal upstairs and shoved it beneath her mattress. Delving into her grandmother's feelings for the man she loved was making Claire long for more fulfillment in her own life
.

  A woman was entitled to miss her marriage bed. But it was inconvenient and scary business she did not need to get involved with. She needed to forget about her grandmother's affair, and to control her own pathetic yearnings.

  But when she slipped beneath her heavy comforter, the ache of loneliness slipped in with her. It wasn't Jack she was longing for, though, or the prince of her girlhood dreams. It was that man in the shadow of Boyd Grayson's reckless smile that made her yearn to be touched and kissed and loved.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anna attended the temperance meetings and marches with Claire, but they shied away from Desmona Edwards, who was relentless in her questions about Anna. She even called on them at home under the guise of discussing temperance business. But Claire suspected the woman was digging for something.

  Claire raised a debate about state licensing for liquor sales, and suggested pleading their case with the government agency who issued the liquor licenses. Her idea was roundly applauded, as were her convictions that a woman should have a rightful say in her life and the management of her home. Temperance was only the beginning of her fight for liberation.

  Claire and Anna worked the ladies into such a frenzy, their singing shook the rafters on Tuesday morning as they marched into Don Beebe's Saloon. He refused to close his tavern for New Year's Eve, or sign their pledge, but the women moved on with a sense of purpose.

  The proprietor of Taylor House locked them out.

  Mr. Smeizer barred the doors to his saloon too.

  They entered Boyd's saloon without a problem, but his short, rude bartender was the only person in the bar. He was chucking wood into the stove, and when he turned to look at them, Claire gasped.

  His eye was grotesquely swollen and bruised, and his lip was puffed out like he had a fat plug of tobacco stuffed between his lower teeth and lip.

  "There's no one here to pester, ladies, so go on home," he said, banging the stove door closed.

  "We'd like to talk with Mr. Grayson, please," Mrs. Barker said courteously in the face of his rude greeting.

  "He's busy. Now, go on. You women have no right to come in here and put your nose in our business." He clasped Mrs. Barker's elbow and nudged her toward the door. "Get back to your kitchens and children." He nudged Mrs. Cushing along behind Mrs. Barker.

  But when he reached for Claire, she slapped his hands away. She suspected he was the cur who had told Mr. Carver that she offered private amenities for a fee, but she couldn't confront the wretched man without embarrassing herself and starting gossip that could hurt her business.

  "We have a right to protest the sale of liquor and to protect our homes," she said.

  "Well, you don't have a right to swarm in here and interrupt me every damned day." Karlton grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her toward the door. "Get out."

  "Karlton!" Boyd's reprimanding voice cracked through the room as he stepped from a small room near the back of the bar. "That's enough. These women have every right to come here and speak their minds."

  "I have a right to speak my mind, too," Karlton said, releasing Claire with a small shove, "Especially when they're sticking their noses in my business,"

  "You don't have a right to manhandle them."

  "They're just trying to find a way to control their husbands and get their hands into his money pouch."

  Several women gasped at the insult.

  "Excuse us a moment, ladies." Boyd pulled Karlton aside, wondering what had riled a man who was usually in control of himself. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "I can't lose any more money because of these harpies," he said. "I've got debts to pay."

  "Is that what your bruised eye is all about?" Boyd asked. But Karlton didn't answer. "Your debt isn't their concern."

  "Well, it sure as hell concerns me. My mother is going to lose her house if my liquor sales drop any lower. I've already had some trouble making payments."

  "Then why the hell have you been gambling?" Boyd shook his head and lowered his voice. "No wonder you're in trouble, Karlton. You've been making wagers every damned night."

  "I'm trying to get caught up."

  "You aren't going to do it by gambling." Boyd glanced at Claire and the group of women who were growing restless waiting for him. "I'll give you an extra night of tending bar, but for God's sake quit gambling, and layoff these women. They can come here as often as they like. You got that?"

  Anger flared in Karlton's eyes, but he nodded.

  Boyd turned back to the ladies, expecting a scowl from Claire, but her eyes registered concern.

  When Mrs. Barker asked him to close his saloon tomorrow for New Year's Eve, he apologized and said he couldn't close on his busiest night of the year.

  Claire scowled.

  o0o

  Not one of the rum holes would close for the holiday.

  Undaunted, the women resumed marching. Claire and Anna returned home after one long, cold jaunt, but when they entered the foyer, they stopped in stunned disbelief.

  "Oh, Lord," Anna whispered, her gaze taking in the open desk drawers that had obviously been ransacked.

  Claire couldn't utter a word as she hurried to her bedchamber. Her chifforobe had been gone through as well, but her precious eight dollars were still there.

  "What could they have been looking for?" Anna asked, shaking her head at the obvious trespassing someone had done.

  Claire didn't know, but it terrified her to know someone had been in her house, had gone through her few personal possessions.

  "Do you have any valuables?" Anna asked.

  "I have one necklace that I'm wearing, and exactly eight dollars to my name," she said, her voice trembling with fear and anger. "Whoever went through the house must have been gravely disappointed."

  "Who could have done such a thing?" Anna asked, her voice filled with sympathy.

  A thunderous pounding on the front door jolted them.

  "Open the door, Anna!"

  Anna gasped and pressed a hand to her stomach. "Oh, my God..."

  Claire's blood turned ice cold. It was Larry.

  "I know you're in there, Anna. Now open this door."

  "He'll pound it down," Anna said, her voice quaking.

  "Let's slip out the back and go for the sheriff."

  Anna's gaze darted through the bedroom as if seeking a hiding place, "He didn't know about you. How could he have found me?"

  "Let's hurry out the back."

  She shook her head. "He knows that trick. We won't get by him."

  "I have a gun. Maybe we can scare him away."

  "You'll have to pull the trigger or he'll kill both of us."

  Could she shoot Larry? She froze in indecision, Maybe. No. No, she couldn't. But how would she get rid of him? She couldn't endure another violent man like Jack, like the man outside shouting obscenities. Her only protection was her gun. But she couldn't bring herself to shoot any living thing, no matter how dangerous.

  Her mind whirled as she and Anna hurried downstairs to the foyer. She would get the gun and make a run for Boyd's saloon. He'd know what to do, how to handle Larry.

  The door burst open with a splintering crash. Larry appeared.

  Anna screamed.

  Claire's knees turned to water.

  Larry backhanded Anna across the face so hard it drove her head into the wall panels. "Stupid woman! Do you think I'd sit in a stinking cell and not have someone keep an eye on you?" He jerked Anna onto the porch. "Gary followed you right to the damned door of your little hideout."

  Tears leaked from Anna's eyes, but she didn't utter a sound as he dragged her out and across the porch.

  Claire followed them outside, her entire body shaking with fear. And fury. "Mr. Levens! Please don't do this."

  He stuck his finger in Claire's face. "You mind your business, lady, or you'll find out what sort of man you're dealing with,"

  She knew what sort of man she was dealing with, and it terrified her. She shrank from him, worried a
bout her own safety, but terrified for Anna. "You're hurting my friend."

  He caught Anna's chin and jerked her face up. "You have a friend, Anna? How charming."

  "Mr. Levens, please—"

  He glared at Claire. "If you stick your nose in my business again, I'll break it." He turned to leave, jerking Anna's arm so hard she fell to her knees.

  Claire reached out to help her stand. Larry slammed his palms into Claire's chest so hard it shoved her against the wall of the house. The impact knocked the breath out of her.

  Black dots danced through her vision, and pain radiated outward from her spine. She heard a shout from across the street, then the sound of feet thumping across the snow-covered road.

  A second later, Boyd Grayson vaulted her porch steps with a murderous rage blazing in his eyes. He grabbed two fistfuls of Larry's coat and drove him into the wall beside her. The house shuddered, and Claire sagged away from the men. "If you've hurt either of these women, I'm going to break your arms, mister."

  Larry swung his fist into Boyd's side just as Sheriff Grayson mounted the steps. Several patrons from Boyd's bar stood in the street watching.

  "What's the problem here?" the sheriff asked, helping Anna to her feet. He was tall like Boyd, but broader and thicker-limbed, a virtual bull of a man. Larry stood a good three inches shorter than Boyd and the sheriff, but he looked like a wild dog with his fur up and his teeth bared.

  "I came to get my wife," he said, shoving Boyd away from him.

  "You ladies go inside," the sheriff said, but Claire and Anna were rooted by fear.

  Boyd stood firm and unyielding, like the sturdy wood columns on her porch. Power emanated from his tall, solid body as he glared at Larry. "Anna doesn't want to go with you."

  "She'll go if I tell her to."

  Boyd's patrons crowded around the porch.

  "This isn't your business, Sheriff. It's between me and my wife."

  "You're trespassing on Mrs. Ashier's property," the sheriff said. "That makes it my business." He slapped a handcuff around Larry's wrist.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Larry demanded.