A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

Forcing her thoughts away from his comment about his own less than innocent ones, she thought about the attack on the train. “They had planned a route of escape.”

  “True. Still, that was a bold move. We’re going to have to be more careful now, more watchful.”

  “We’re getting too close,” she murmured.

  Mitchell nodded. “And the closer we get, the more dangerous things can become. I can’t protect you very well if I’m down the hall, two locked doors between us.”

  There was too much truth to that statement for her to argue with it. No one knew the papers she carried were useless forgeries. She pushed aside the twinge of guilt she felt over hiding that fact from Mitchell and concentrated on the problem at hand. It was going to be awkward to share a room, but it would unquestionably be a lot safer, for both of them. She could not allow modesty and a fear of her own feelings allow her to put them both at risk. Being so consistently close to Mitchell could prove a danger to her, but all that was at risk there was her chastity and her heart. She could survive the loss of those.

  “Why the fake name? Do you think it’ll fool the men after us?” she asked.

  Mitchell breathed an inner sigh of relief, for he knew she had just agreed to his plan. “It might.”

  “But probably not for long, hmm? Oh, well, it might at least make them hesitate enough to give us some warning. Shall we go inside?”

  “What? No warnings to behave myself?” he asked as he picked up their bags.

  “Would it do any good?” She followed him into the hotel, finding the inside as stark and utilitarian as the outside.

  “Probably not.”

  Maura supposed there was something good that could be said about his honesty. In an odd way it made her feel more comfortable with the plan. Since she knew, by his own confession, that he was not averse to trying a little seduction, she could not be caught by surprise. As he stepped up to the counter, she donned what her uncle had always jokingly called her princess look. She did not want to expose the lie they were about to tell by even the hint of a blush. Maura stared at the plump clerk with all the hauteur she could produce, almost daring him to question them. It made the man so nervous he did not even notice that neither she nor Mitchell wore a wedding ring.

  She was delighted when he got them a room with a private bath, something that was, thankfully, becoming more and more common, but she winced at the cost. Only the more affluent asked for such luxuries, and the price had obviously been set with that knowledge in mind. As she followed Mitchell up the stairs, she began to wonder just how well off the Callahans were. Obviously their land and mine were worth coveting. The Martins were well prepared to kill for them. Oddly, the thought that he might be very rich made her uneasy.

  It was not until she stepped inside the room, saw that there was only one bed, that Maura began to be nervous about their arrangement. Instinct told her that Mitchell was a man to heed a no, even if it was not the word he wanted to hear. What she feared was that she would not say the word and she did not understand why she should fear that. She barely knew the man.

  The memory of his kiss chose that moment to flood her mind and she nearly cursed. A part of her obviously felt it knew him well enough to cast aside all rules and modesty. She was puzzled that she had never before met this wanton part of her. She had always considered herself the most proper of women, even a little cold. Where the heat Mitchell Callahan could produce came from, she did not know, nor was she sure she wanted to. It was bad enough that he made her feel so wanton, so deeply curious to know just how wild he could make her. She did not want to think that the armor she had placed around her heart had been so quickly pierced by dark-gray eyes and a charming smile.

  “I am going to have a bath,” she announced abruptly.

  As he set their bags down, Mitchell eyed her with curiosity. She had appeared to be calm, had stared down the hotel clerk as if she was royalty. Now, however, he sensed an uneasiness in her. He hoped she was planning on using the bath to restore her calm. She was so tense at the moment he did not dare touch her for fear she would run screaming from the room.

  “I will order us some dinner then,” he said, keeping his voice as pleasant as he could.

  “We will eat in our room?”

  “I think it might be best if we try not to show our faces too often.”

  “Probably.”

  She opened her bag and started to take out a change of clothes, then hesitated. It was already late and he had just told her that they would not be going anywhere, so what was the point of putting on a dress when she would just have to take it off again in a few hours? Despite Mitchell’s presence, she had no intention of sleeping in her day clothes. They were far too binding. Her nightgown and robe were very modest, prim, in fact. Since she and Mitchell were obviously going to be spending a great deal of time in each other’s pocket, Maura decided it was time to ease her grip on the reins of her modesty, and she took out her nightgown and robe.

  “Do you think we could have some wine with dinner?” she asked as she collected her soap and other bathing needs.

  “Of course.” He looked at her closely. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. However, I believe I will be even better after a long, hot bath.” She gave him a faint smile and headed toward the bathroom. “It has been a long day and perhaps a little more exciting than I can tolerate.”

  “Yes, getting shot at can make one a little tense.”

  “Quite.”

  “Just don’t leave everything in there smelling too pretty,” he said as she disappeared into the bathroom. “I’m going to want a bath after you.”

  Maura smiled faintly as she shut the door, set down her things, and turned the bath taps on. Her uncle had often complained about the strong feminine scents lingering in the bathroom at home. Men clearly did not appreciate the risk of coming out of a bath smelling like roses or lavender. She sprinkled her lavender-scented bath salts over the steaming water and almost laughed at the thought of a big, virile man like Mitchell smelling so sweet.

  As the tub filled, she quickly washed her hair under the running water, rubbed it dry enough with a towel to stop it dripping, and then pinned it up. The moment she slid her body into the hot, softly scented water, she began to feel better. Her tense muscles relaxed and her heartbeat and breathing slowed to a more comfortable pace. Somehow, nothing seemed quite so horrible while soaking in a bath.

  The attack on the train had obviously upset her more than she realized. She reluctantly admitted that Mitchell Callahan also had something to do with her sudden attack of nerves. She could feel her own weaknesses clawing their way to the surface every time he was near, and, now, he was going to be near her all the time. It was enough to send any maiden into a panic. Mitchell Callahan, with his crooked smiles and big feet, was one tall, dark, handsome threat to her much guarded chastity and she had no idea of how to guard against that.

  So, why guard against it at all? asked that wanton part of her. As she slowly washed herself, Maura seriously considered the question. To many a poor girl, marriage was the only way to gain a future, and chastity was usually a requirement for that. But she and Deidre already had a future planned and it was not dependent upon marriage, not dependent upon men at all.

  Maura was determined not to follow in her mother’s footsteps, not to let love grab such a hold on her that she became little more than a toy for some man, her happiness dependent upon his attentions. Passion, however, was something else again. In the marriage she had planned for her future, passion had not really figured, only practicality and stability, a calm, sensible union that would give her children. So, where was it written that she could not have both? Wild, insensible passion with Mitchell now and her calm, sensible marriage later? Surely every man did not demand that the woman he married was a virgin?

  Realizing that she had been sitting in the tub thinking for so long she was beginning to wrinkle and the water had cooled, Maura pulled the plug and got out. She had given herself
something to think about. There was time yet to make up her mind. Even the thought of taking a lover, of taking Mitchell as a lover, to be precise, had her feeling an odd blend of excited and terrified. It was a scandalous plan, but that wanton part of her Mitchell had stirred to life forced her not to dismiss it out of hand. As far as the wanton Maura was concerned, the only problem was how to give up her virginity now, yet still hook a husband in Missouri.

  “Disgraceful,” Maura muttered as she pulled on her nightgown and robe.

  As she gathered up her things, she wondered if this job she had taken on, all the threats to her life, had turned her mind. It would explain why she was suddenly looking at herself as if she was two different people—wanton, sassy Maura, and prim and proper Maura. That was probably Mitchell’s fault, too, she decided a little crossly as she stepped out of the bathroom.

  She had barely got out of the door before Mitchell was striding in past her. He announced that their dinner would arrive in an hour and shut the door behind him. When she heard him muttering about the stink of lavender in the room, she laughed.

  Once she had put her clothes away, she sat in a chair near a small fireplace and brushed her hair dry. In a strange way, the question she was considering concerning Mitchell made her feel more at ease. Maura wondered if that was because she had taken the matter out of Mitchell’s seductive hands and put it firmly in her own. Trying to avoid the matter completely had not worked at all. Now she was working on a plan and that, she supposed, was what made her feel so at ease. Scandalous though it was to even consider taking as a lover a man she had just barely met, she was now facing the problem as a mature woman and not shying away from it like some terrified child.

  Her sense of ease faded a moment after the food was delivered. She was just sitting down at the table near the window, wondering if she should begin without Mitchell, when he strode out of the bathroom. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He was bare-chested and rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Despite her efforts not to, she looked him over. His chest was broad and smooth, the muscles easy to see but not too thick. Sliding her gaze down that glorious expanse of bare skin, she saw a thin line of hair beginning just under his belly button and disappearing into the front of his tight pants. When she found herself wondering what the rest of him looked like she nearly groaned aloud. Prim Maura was appalled, but wanton Maura wanted to go over to him and smooth her hands all over that handsome chest. She closed her eyes.

  Mitchell grinned as he grabbed his shirt and put it on. He did not think it was vanity that told him he had seen appreciation in her eyes. It had been there long enough for him to recognize it before she had smothered it with her strong sense of propriety.

  He sat down at the table, and drawled, “I’m decent now.”

  Maura slowly opened her eyes and gave him what she hoped was a frown. It was going to take her longer than a minute to get over the sight of him. She turned her attention to her meal, hoping the mundane act of eating would restore her calm.

  Thinking that conversation would also help, she began to ask him about his family and about the lands they were all trying so hard to save. He seemed more than ready to tell her anything she wanted to know, but each word he spoke made her realize how different a world he had come from. The Callahans might have started from nothing, but they had come a long way from that. She suspected that their wealth had been firmly established while Mitchell was still a boy. If not for the trouble with the Martins, she would have never met Mitchell, and not simply because they lived so far apart. They would never have met even if he had lived in Saint Louis. They were very clearly from different classes. About all they had in common was that they were both of Irish descent.

  Once the meal was done and Mitchell had set the tray in the hall to be collected later, Maura suggested a game of cards. She knew she was just trying to delay the moment when they had to face the problem of only one bed, and the look of amusement in his fine eyes told her that he knew it, too, but he readily agreed.

  After she soundly defeated him in the first hand of poker they played, he took the game more seriously.

  “Where the hell did you learn to play like that?” he asked much later as he shared out the last of the wine and Maura set the deck of cards aside.

  “Sad to say, my father was a chronic gambler,” she replied, relaxing in her chair and sipping her wine. “He taught me. He didn’t really know what to do with a little girl, I think. So, the few times he wandered home, he would teach me cards. Uncle Patrick furthered my education. He did not gamble much at all, but he did like the game.”

  “Well, we’ve eaten, bathed, and played cards. Anything else you want to do before we discuss what to do about the bed.”

  Maura quelled the urge to slap the grin off his face. “You could sleep on the floor.”

  Mitchell glanced down at the hard, wood floor covered by only a few small rag rugs. “Would you be so cruel?”

  “Not if you promise to behave yourself. Oh, and try not to ooze all over the bed like you did the seat on the train.” The idea of both of them in the same bed made her a little nervous, but she could not really see anywhere else for a big man like him to sleep and she was not about to sleep on the floor.

  He stood up and walked around to her chair, placing his hands on the arms and caging her in her seat. “Are you sure you can trust me to keep my word?”

  Trying not to stare at his mouth, which was temptingly close to hers, Maura nodded. “The odd thing is, I do. Then again, I have to. Today showed me that I can’t finish this trip alone. That means we’ll be watching each other’s back all the way to Paradise. If I can’t trust your word, how can I trust you to do that?”

  “True. All right, once we get into bed, I’ll behave myself.” He took her empty wineglass out of her hand and picked her up in his arms.

  “I think I will go and get into bed now,” she said, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, yet trying to sound firm in her demand.

  “Let me just walk you over there.”

  The way their bodies subtly rubbed together as he walked had her heart beating so fast and hard she was amazed he did not hear it. He slowly traced her face with soft, teasing kisses until she ached for his mouth on hers. At the edge of the bed he finally gave her what he had made her crave, and she clung to him, eagerly opening her mouth for the seductive invasion of his tongue. She wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him closer and steady herself as he devoured her mouth, making no effort to temper his hunger. He put his big hands on her backside and rubbed her against him. The feel of the hardness in his groin moving against her sent her reeling, but it was the very strength of her reaction that finally gave her the impetus to break off the embrace.

  “Put me down,” she said, her voice hoarse and uneven.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Mitchell thought it was the hardest thing he had ever been asked to do, but he released her. He found comfort in the fact that, in his arms, she turned to fire, wildfire, in fact. They were like spark to dry tinder when they were close and he could not believe she could keep fighting that. He was just going to have to scrounge up some patience.

  He waited until she had shed her robe, smiling faintly at the voluminous nightgown she wore, then stripped down to his drawers and slid in beside her. This was going to be a torture worthy of the Spanish Inquisition, he decided as he sprawled on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Even though they were not touching he could feel her. He could smell her, smell that hint of lavender and her own soft, womanly scent. If he did not get himself in control soon, he would be climbing the walls by dawn.

  “You want me,” he said after she had turned out the light.

  Maura only briefly considered telling him no. Perhaps it was the lying together in the dark that made telling the truth come easily, but she replied, “Yes, I should have thought that was obvious.”

  “But you intend to fight me.”

  “As
I must.”

  “I like to win.”

  “So do I, Mister Callahan. So do I.”

  “Damn.”

  Chapter Five

  EVEN THOUGH IT MADE Mitchell far too happy for her liking, Maura pressed closer to his side as the stage jerked and swayed over the bumpy, rutted, frozen road. She was seated between him and a skinny, balding man who clearly did not know that one could actually use water to wash with. The one time she had bumped against him, the aroma that had curled up from his body was so strong, it had been enough to make her eyes water.

  They had had to linger at the hotel for an extra day just to catch this stage. Maura wished they had waited a little longer. The stage was full and, except for Mitchell, not with the most pleasant of companions. The very hefty, and strangely similar in appearance, Mr. and Mrs. Dixon sat across from her. Maura would have felt sorry for the third person on that seat, a rather slender, graying gentleman, except that he had arrived on the stage in a drunken stupor and somehow managed to linger in that condition. He was pressed so tightly between Mrs. Dixon and the side of the stage that, if the woman shifted slightly or even took a deep breath, he would probably be pressed right out through the wooden side. Yet, with regular sips from a silver flask, the gentleman apparently remained oblivious to his own plight. Maura did wish that he would pass out with a little more decorum. He just flopped there, his head bumping back and forth between the side of the stage and Mrs. Dixon’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open and filling the stage with the most unpleasant wet snores she had ever heard.

  The man next to Maura shifted his position on the seat, disturbing the aura of stench hanging around him and sending another strong whiff Maura’s way. Maura tried to get even closer to Mitchell. While they had been stuck in the hotel room waiting for the stage, he had missed no opportunity to try to seduce her. At every turn he had stolen kisses, or touched her, or pulled her into his arms. In the end, however, he had held to his promise and behaved himself within the confines of the bed they had to share. He had kept her constantly torn between annoyance and excitement. What he was not doing was giving her the time to think over all of her options concerning him and what he made her feel. She was probably giving him the impression that she was over her annoyance of this morning, but she did not care what he thought at the moment. He smelled far better than the rest of the group.