by Jane Goodger
She would have told them that if she hadn’t been so very angry and confused by the man. Granted, that first kiss had been her idea and her fault, and she had been a bit tipsy at the time. More than a bit, she admitted to herself. But that second kiss, the one that made her toes curl and her stomach all strange, well that had been all Mitch. And it had been rather thrilling. It had been “nothing,” he’d said. Well, it hadn’t been nothing to her. It had tilted her world on end, made her see Mitch in a different light, made her realize that kissing a man was wonderful and stirring. Made her think of herself as a woman for the first time.
When she’d sat down as the lawmen were capturing the train robbers, still holding Mitch’s hand, it hadn’t been the excitement of catching the outlaw that had stunned her to silence, it had been that kiss. Although she’d slept beside Mitch for days, snuggling by him for warmth, never in all that time had she seen him. Or truly seen herself. He was Mitch, a man who’d saved her, who’d agreed to take her to London. A friend and companion. But suddenly, he was a man. It was all so confusing.
Having grown up in a cabin far removed from society, she had no experience in trying to attract a husband. She found out soon enough that this was a common topic of conversation for most women. They talked about their daughters, their sons, their grandchildren, and many times the focus of their conversation was whether this one would marry that one or that one would be happy with the other one. It was as if she’d entered a foreign world where she didn’t know the rules. It was easy to break the rules when one didn’t know what they were.
“You’ve grown quiet, dear,” Mrs. Walsh said.
“I’m just pondering things a bit,” Genny said, looking back to her seat where Mitch now sat reading a periodical.
“They are a confusing lot,” Mrs. Walsh said with a chuckle. “I thought he was going to faint dead away when you came up to that outlaw wielding that cane. Goodness, I’ve never seen a man so white. That’s what love will do, though.”
Love. Bah. I’m not your husband and I’m not even your beau. I’m nothing but a man who got himself in a gnarly situation . . . Obviously, she was that “gnarly situation.”
“And that kiss. My knickers nearly caught fire just watching it.”
Genny turned beet red, and Mrs. Walsh laughed. “Oh, my girl, I see that I’ve shocked you.” Indeed, Mrs. Walsh did not seem to be the kind of woman who would say such a thing, but what did Genny know of women? She was just as naïve about them as she was about men.
The porter had come into the car to take their dinner orders, ending the conversation. The two women made their way back to their seats, Genny sitting down at the farthest edge of the couch to avoid touching Mitch. Even that made her sad, but she did it anyway, recalling how grumpy Mitch had been about their close quarters.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, low and gruff.
“I have no idea what you mean.” Genny stared at the porter as if watching a man take dinner orders was vastly interesting.
Before she knew what he was about, Mitch had wrapped a hand around her waist and hauled her snug up against him before removing his arm from her. She looked at him curiously, more confused now about his actions than before.
“I say things sometimes and they come out the wrong way. Like I’m angry or something. I’m not.”
Genny let out a small laugh, for Mitch sounded quite angry at the moment. She lifted a brow and he smiled, sheepishly.
“I want to be mad. Just can’t, not at you at any rate.”
“Good. I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”
“I never was angry. I was frustrated and more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. Don’t you ever do such a foolish thing like that again, Genny.”
“But it all ended well. The outlaws were caught. No one was hurt.”
He let out a gusty sigh. “You could have been killed. The passengers would have given up their money, sure, but they would have been alive. You could have gotten yourself killed.”
“But he was holding his gun on you. And, Mitch, he was going to pull that trigger. Maybe all the passengers would have lived, but I had a terrible feeling he was going to shoot you just for sport. You could have died. I had to do something. Besides, if he had stolen all our money, how would we have gotten to England?”
He looked at her then, his eyes burning with something she didn’t understand. It almost looked to her like he wanted to scream but was holding it in. Then he turned his head sharply away and stared at the back of the couch in front of them.
“I’m sorry, Mitch. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but how could I just let him shoot you?” She laid her hand on his forearm and was startled by the knot of muscle she felt, as if he were lifting something impossibly heavy. That’s when she saw that his hand was curled into a fist so tight, his knuckles were stark white. “Mitch, what’s wrong?”
“You . . .” He swallowed hard. “You are never to put my life before yours. I doubt you’ll ever get the chance, but, hell, Genny, I couldn’t live with myself if I thought that’s what you’d been doing and you got hurt. I thought you were saving the others.” He was still staring at the back of the couch, his breathing harsh.
“That was an added benefit,” she said, laughing and hoping he’d smile. But his expression only grew grimmer.
He pressed one hand to his chest and rubbed hard and Genny worried that he might be ill. For a time back in Yosemite, they’d had a neighbor, an old-timer who had taught her father what he needed to know to survive in the wilderness. They’d found old Jake dead in his cabin just a day after he’d been rubbing his chest. Her father had explained that Jake’s heart had simply given out. Mitch was far younger than Jake, but that didn’t mean his heart was strong.
He turned to her, and she saw that his eyes had softened a bit. “I think I just might have to kiss you again, after all,” he said. He looked across the aisle and his expression turned regretful. “But not now. Probably not ever. I’ll come to my senses, so you don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she said, trying to tamp down the thrill she felt upon hearing his words.
“You’re just impossible, Genny.”
“I don’t mean to be.” She couldn’t help letting her gaze drift down to his mouth. She’d never really noticed a man’s mouth, not that she’d seen that many. Most men she’d known had mustaches and beards and even if they were clean-shaven, she didn’t think she would have taken notice of their mouths. But Mitch’s was rather lovely. Sculpted and masculine, his bottom lip just slightly more full than his top. She heard Mitch let out a low sound and she looked at him and again saw a heat in his gaze. Oh. That’s what that meant; he wanted to kiss her. She thought back to all those looks she hadn’t been able to interpret and was stunned.
“Stop grinning at me. And stop . . . just stop looking at me.”
Genny let out a laugh. “Stop looking at you? That’s going to be a bit difficult in these small quarters.”
“You know what I mean. At least I pray to God and Jesus that you do.” He said the last mostly to himself.
She leaned forward and whispered, “The porter is taking the Walshs’ dinner order. They are quite occupied.” And then she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, feeling daring and wonderful. At first, he didn’t move, but he didn’t pull away, either. And then, he tilted his head, just slightly, and kissed her back, moving his lips in a way that seemed to touch every part of her body—even parts she hadn’t really thought existed.
He pulled back, looking as if he’d just hurt her rather than kissed her. “I can’t keep doing that, Genny. I can’t.”
“It was your idea,” she pointed out, teasing him. “And I really don’t mind. I ought to know how to kiss, oughtn’t I, if I’m going to be married to a prince.”
Mitch’s expression changed subtly, and he dropped his head and let out a small laugh. “Yes, you’re right. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your prince.”
Mi
tch knew Genny was teasing, but her words couldn’t have been more perfect for a man who was in an epic battle with his heart and his head. Genny was the granddaughter of a duke and he was the illegitimate son of an actress. Even in America, a match between them would be unheard of, and he knew the English were much bigger sticklers about such things. In their world, he figured he wouldn’t even be hired as a servant. And here he’d been thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could manage a way to keep her.
He’d laugh if he wasn’t so angry—with himself, mostly. Her teasing about marrying a prince brought him back to reality. He was a man, just has he’d told her, who had gotten himself into a gnarly situation, who would hopefully end up with some gold in his pocket. If he got a couple of kisses from a pretty girl in the meantime? That didn’t make him a villain, just a man who was taking advantage of his situation.
What an idiot he would be to let his heart become more engaged than it already was. That horse was already out of the barn, but he’d do his best in the next few weeks to make certain it didn’t get away entirely. And maybe he could coax it back into the barn. He chuckled to himself, winning a questioning look from Genny.
“Just thinking of horses and barns,” he said by way of explanation, which only seemed to make Genny more confused.
Omaha, Nebraska was a small but bustling city, seemingly sprouting from the plains in a random way. It had been only twenty years since the first white baby had been born in Omaha, and now it was a sprawling city with brick buildings and paved streets. The train pulled into a station situated in the older part of town with clapboard buildings and fences that looked like a good wind would knock them over. But in the distance, Genny could see a gleaming white church steeple and fine brick and stone buildings.
The Walshes had already gathered up all their belongings and were ready to head to the baggage car when the train groaned to a final stop. Genny stood and bade them a tearful good-bye, feeling as though she was leaving behind a life-long friend.
“You make friends quickly when you travel,” Mrs. Walsh said, giving Genny a warm hug. Mr. Walsh patted her shoulder and did something with his mouth that Genny assumed was a smile. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t said more than a handful of words the entire way from Sacramento.
After they’d gone and Mitch had collected their belongings, Genny said, “I’ll never see them again. I’ll never see any of these people again. It’s so sad.”
“You get used to it. I’ll likely never see Will Jackson again and he was the best friend I’ve ever had. Just part of life.”
Just part of life. For the first time, it struck Genny that she would have to say good-bye to Mitch, that after she was safely ensconced with her grandparents, she would likely never see him again either. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. She would not think about that until it happened. It would do no good to dwell on their good-bye when they still had weeks left together.
“But I can write. I have their address. Mrs. Walsh did promise to write.”
“I’m sure she will,” Mitch said, but she could tell he was just trying to appease her.
“You don’t think she will?”
“She might. In fact, she probably will. But then your lives will have taken different tracks and you won’t have much to say to one another. You’ll be a fine lady in England living in a castle and she’ll be back here making her own life.”
Genny felt she would never forget Mrs. Walsh, never stop writing as long as the older woman continued to write to her. But Mitch? She had a feeling he wouldn’t write a word. He just didn’t seem to be the type of man who would cling to a friendship. So when they said good-bye in a few weeks, it would be a final good-bye, very nearly like a death. It had been so hard to wrap her mind around the fact that her father was gone forever. It had taken weeks before she stopped looking at the door expecting him to walk in at any time. After Mitch left her, she would never see him again. She would have no reason to return to America and he certainly would have no reason to go to England.
“Are you going back to California after you take me to my grandparents?”
He looked at her and shook his head before staring out at the busy train station and the passengers collecting their bags. “I plan to open up a photography studio and settle down. I always was better at taking pictures of people rather than nature. That was Will’s strength. He could capture the beauty and grandness of a tree, but I ended up just taking a picture of a tree. Nearly the same, but to someone who understands photography, it’s completely different.”
Mitch was going to “settle down.” That seemed almost worse than saying good-bye. Settling down meant finding a wife and having children, and the thought of Mitch kissing another woman sent hot shards of jealousy through Genny. It was such an unexpected feeling, such a terrible and painful thing. Yet, she was planning to do the same, was she not? She knew from talking to those women on the train that women were expected to marry, particularly women of rank. One woman on the train seemed to be an expert on the subject and had gone on and on about how the daughter of a lord could never marry someone as ordinary as a banker or shopkeeper. Genny had remained silent on the subject, because, after all, she was supposed to be married to Mitch. But now she wished she’d asked more questions, like why couldn’t a woman marry whomever she pleased.
The two had gathered up their rather meager luggage and were waiting patiently as the passengers departed. The Walshes, in a hurry to see their relatives, were the first out the door. Mitch leaned over to peer out the window and gave a satisfied grunt.
“Fine day, but hotter than h . . .” He stopped and grinned. “Hotter than hot. Never did get used to the heat of this place in summer.” He straightened, and Genny got the feeling he was nervous about something. “We don’t have to catch the train to New York until tomorrow morning, which gives us plenty of time for me to get to the bank so I can close my account. And maybe we can buy you another dress or two.”
Genny looked down at the dark blue dress she was wearing, noting a few travel stains she hadn’t seen before. “That would be wonderful.”
“I know a lady’s store near William’s photography studio that should have a nice selection.”
He was talking more quickly than usual and kept peering out the window, and Genny suddenly wondered if Mitch had a girl here and was worried she would see him with Genny. He scrubbed his chin, which hadn’t seen a razor in a few days now, making him look a bit like an outlaw.
“I need to go to the studio to pick up my gear. Will’s wife will be there. She’s a good woman. You’ll like her.”
He seemed so distracted, Genny found herself looking through the window to see if she could determine what was making him so antsy.
“Who am I? Genny Hayes or Mrs. Mitch Campbell?”
She knew immediately that she’d hit the right target, because beneath that scruffy beard, Mitch blushed.
“You’re Genevieve Hayes.”
“That’s good. I’m not very good at being Mrs. Mitch Campbell.”
He grinned down at her and looked slightly more relaxed. “Mollie’s a good woman, but she can be a bit of a stickler, if you catch my meaning. I’m just trying to figure out how I can make her understand that traveling this way was our only option. I’m pretty sure she’s going to tan my hide for putting you in this situation.”
Genny let out a bubble of laughter. “You’re frightened of her.”
“Heck yes, I am.” He put on an expression of mock fear. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Mitch loved Mollie like a sister, and if she hadn’t already been married to Will when Mitch had met her, he might have fallen in love with her. How many women would allow their husbands to go gallivanting off into the wilderness year after year to take photographs? She didn’t like it and she let Will know it, but she understood that it was important, that Will was an important man. She was five foot nothing with a huge pile of dark hair, an Irish temper, and other than Genny, had the pre
ttiest eyes he’d ever seen. And she was about to give him a large dose of anger, he was certain of it.
After stopping at the bank to close out his account, a process that made Mitch slightly sick to his stomach, he and Genny headed to the Jacksons’ place. The couple lived with their two children across from the photography studio that had been Mitch’s refuge. Sick of wandering since the war, he’d been looking for an odd job, and when he walked into that studio, he knew he’d found something that could make him stay. William Jackson recognized a kindred soul, a man with eyes still haunted by the things he’d seen, and immediately offered him not only a position, but a cot in the back room to sleep in. And that’s where he’d stayed for nearly five years, scrimping and saving and dreaming.
The Jacksons’ home was a two-story whitewashed clapboard house with a welcoming front porch. As Mitch walked down the street, his arm aching from his heavy pack, he instantly saw that Mollie was out on that porch with her youngest boy, playing jacks. She sat on the second step, while the boy was sprawled out on the porch floor, intent on the game.
And when she looked up and saw Mitch walking toward her, she stood, her face white, one hand going to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Oh, shit.
“He’s fine,” he said, hastening toward her, leaving Genny behind. “Will is fine, Mollie.”
Tears filled her eyes and she dropped her hand, which had now turned into a little fist. “You about scared the life out of me, Mitch Campbell, coming up to me like that, looking all worried.” And then she noticed Genny, standing a bit back.
“I’m sorry, Mollie. I can explain. This is Miss Genevieve Hayes and she’s the reason I’m here now. Let’s go on inside.”
Mollie looked at Genny and frowned, then smiled. “Of course. Come on, Seth, why don’t you go teach your sister how to play jacks.”
