“Tell me, dear. Don’t hold back.”
Elizabeth drew a ragged breath and then unburdened herself, telling Olga everything from meeting Miss Lily and Sharee to how she decided to bring Miguel his supper and made herself vulnerable to attack. “And now,” she concluded and tried not to sob, “Miguel acts like he hates me. I don’t know what I did.”
The housekeeper patted her hand. “Don’t you worry about Miguel. More likely, he’s angry with himself for placing you in danger. He cares for you.”
He cared for her? He wanted to take her to bed—or he did before Sharee. But she couldn’t tell that to Olga.
“Did you have fun?” Cactus Flower interrupted them as she walked in and helped herself to a cookie. She sat down beside Elizabeth and her eyes widened at the new dress. “Did don Miguel actually take you to Miss Lily’s?”
“Sometimes, you ask too many questions,” Olga said briskly. “Do you know where Raul is?”
She nodded, her eyes still on the gray silk. “He’s polishing Diablo’s saddle, I think. I saw him talking to Swift Hawk a little while ago and they both were headed to the barn.”
Elizabeth smiled. “He’s probably trying to soften up his father to let him help at the barn-raising.”
Cactus Flower clapped her hands excitedly. “I can hardly wait, myself.”
“Oh?” Elizabeth wrinkled her forehead. “Are women supposed to help, too?”
The Indian girl looked at her as though she were daft. “Some of the women cook during the days it takes the men to build the barn. It’s the dance afterwards that’s fun.”
“Dance?”
Olga nodded. “Before the animals are placed in the barn, while it’s still clean and the floors slippery with sawdust, there’ll be a dance. They’ll have fiddlin’ and guitars.”
“And maybe even mariachis,” Cactus Flower added. “Don Miguel hired some from San Antonio one time.”
It did sound like fun, but Elizabeth doubted she’d be going. She had no gowns suitable for dancing. Her dresses were made for everyday wear. She wasn’t about to ask Miguel for new clothes in his present mood. “I wouldn’t know what to wear.”
Cactus Flower giggled. “We’ll come up with something.”
• ♥ •
Since Miguel had decided to stay at Tate-Johnson’s for the duration of the barn-raising and Olaf joined him when he could get away, Olga decided to take them a home-cooked lunch one day.
Elizabeth held the big basket on her lap in the surrey. The smells of fried chicken, still-warm yeast bread, and the more pungent aroma of potato salad wafted up, making her hungry. The cinnamon spice from the apple pie didn’t help matters, either. Even the two wranglers who rode as their guards sniffed appreciatively.
She hadn’t seen Miguel in nearly ten days. His original excuse had been he needed to be able to make plans with Tate-Johnson on handling the Indian trial when the circuit judge came to town, but Elizabeth suspected he was staying away for a different reason. She wasn’t sure what it was; he had just been cool and distant toward her since the attack in Fort Worth. She had played the event over and over in her mind, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong. The only conclusion she came up with was that Sharee had been so good, he had decided to quit bothering with Elizabeth. Not a conclusion she liked at all.
Olaf came to meet them as they drove into the barnyard. She watched as he helped Olga down and kissed her cheek. Roughshod he might be, but there was love between the two of them. Elizabeth sighed. Would a man ever treat her like that?
Then, she saw Miguel. Shirtless, his tanned body gleaming with a light layer of sweat, he yielded a hammer as though it were nothing more than a kitchen fork. Yet, his biceps contracted and his back muscles rippled as he nailed the two-by-four into place. Raw, semi-naked man. Would she ever get tired of the sight of him?
He tossed the hammer down and reached for his shirt and she saw him walk toward a small grove of shade as he buttoned it. Then she stiffened.
Abigail Parsons was sitting on a blanket, a picnic spread on a linen cloth. As Elizabeth watched, Miguel dropped down beside her. She handed him a thick sandwich and a napkin. Even from where Elizabeth stood, she could hear the woman’s laughter. Only to her, it sounded more like the screech of a cougar about to pounce.
Olga followed her gaze and made a hissing noise. “Ach, child. Pay no attention. He’ll come over when he can.”
Which really wasn’t the point. How often had the schoolmarm been coming? Miguel had been gone two weekends and one day school was closed because, supposedly, Miss Parsons was ill. Had she been spending all those days bringing Miguel lunch? A burning sensation began in Elizabeth’s stomach as if she’d swallowed hot coals. So maybe it hadn’t been Sharee at all. Maybe the reason for his staying away was really to rendezvous with the cat-woman. He had said he didn’t kiss her that day in the library, but she had kissed him. Maybe he liked it and decided to go for more. By all the saints, the schoolmarm had made it known she was willing.
Miguel looked up then and his hand paused half-way to his mouth. He smiled and nodded his head; the schoolmarm immediately followed his gaze, her own eyes narrowed, then she put a hand possessively on his arm and leaned closer.
Elizabeth turned away and found herself looking at the attorney, Beauregard Cartier. Surprisingly, he didn’t look like he’d worked up a sweat at all. His white linen shirt was clean and his dark wool trousers neatly creased. Even his boots weren’t dusty.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He smiled. “Just delivering some paperwork to Tate-Johnson. I must say, my dear lady, the food smells as absolutely delicious as you look, begging your pardon for my taking such a liberty as saying so. Might I impose my company on you?”
Elizabeth considered. She knew there was plenty of food; Olga believed in German smorgasbord cooking. And Beauregard was definitely a handsome man with his blond hair and blue eyes, although he reminded her too much of Edward. A pity the Predator didn’t put her claws out for this one. No matter. If Miguel planned on acting chivalrous and all gallant toward Miss Parsons, Elizabeth could play the game, too. Beauregard was Southern; she summoned up her best image of Scarlett.
“My, but you do flatter me,” Elizabeth said and almost choked on the words. How did women say stuff like this? “I’m sure Olga won’t mind.” She allowed herself a small side glance and was rewarded to find Miguel staring at them. Good. Let him.
The meal seemed to stretch into eternity, although Beauregard kept up a running conversation and politely made sure Olga and Olaf were included. Finally, Elizabeth saw Miguel escort the schoolmarm to her carriage. Damn. Did he have to help her into it? She wasn’t surprised to see that Miss Parsons had driven alone; Elizabeth had a feeling any self-respecting wolf, coyote, or rattler along the way would avoid the woman.
Then she saw Miguel say something to one of the teenage boys. He passed him a coin and the young man grinned and nodded and ran for his horse. She watched as he galloped after the schoolmarm. So…Miguel sent an escort, and was protecting her, after all.
Elizabeth plastered a smile on her face and turned her full attention to the lawyer, not hearing a word.
• ♥ •
Miguel sauntered over to them, wondering what he was going to say to her. Having not seen her in over a week, she nearly took his breath away in those form-fitting denims. The ones he had told her not to wear. He sighed. He doubted that she would ever listen to him. Just another reason not to let himself get emotionally involved. A man had to have some respect from his woman. He stopped short. Elizabeth was not his woman. But what the hell was that dandy lawyer doing here today?
And of all days, Abigail Parsons had to show up, too. He knew Elizabeth wouldn’t believe him if he said it had been the first time she did, and he had no idea that she was coming. That beautiful, wild, red hair of Elizabeth’s was also reminiscent of the legendary temper of the Celts.
He dropped down to the ground on the other s
ide of her and reached into the basket for leftovers.
“Still hungry?” Elizabeth asked coolly.
Ouch. He forced himself to look into her eyes and then let his gaze linger on her mouth. Full sensual lips that he longed to kiss. He looked back into her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I am.” He was rewarded with a blush that swept across her face before she looked away. Grinning, he helped himself to a chicken thigh.
“Beauregard was just telling us about his life in Virginia,” Elizabeth said quickly and somewhat breathlessly. “I find it fascinating. Did you know he’s a writer?”
“No. What brought you to Texas?” Miguel asked languidly.
The lawyer paused. “I guess I wanted to see what the Wild West was like. Thought I might try writing some of those dime novels like I’ve been reading. They’re quite the rage in the East.”
Miguel answered, “The real adventure lies in California’s gold. San Francisco is full of intrigue. Maybe you should go there.”
Beauregard shook his head. “Texas is fine with me. Tate-Johnson and my father were both Masons. The families go back a way. Anyway, I think I can establish a good practice here with Fort Worth growing.”
“Economic growth is important,” Elizabeth said. “Just suppose—say in another hundred and fifty years or so—that Fort Worth might have several hundred thousand people living here!”
Miguel sent her a dark look. He wished he could convince her to not talk about the future—someone was going to assume she was truly addled.
Beauregard laughed. “You do have a delightful sense of humor, my lady.”
Little did he know she was serious. Miguel changed the subject as he accepted a piece of pie from Olga. “Did you make the pie by any chance, Red?”
“You know very well that’s Olga’s pie,” Elizabeth snapped. “Didn’t Miss Parsons bring you dessert?”
He looked into her eyes. “She offered dessert, yes. I turned it down.” He watched as the implication sank in and was pleased to see the blush spread again. “Would you like some of mine?” He tried not to grin when the blush deepened.
“No. Thanks.” Elizabeth turned away and Miguel was forced to listen to her regale Beauregard about life in Virginia. At least, she wasn’t comparing it to the twenty-first century. But when she asked the same somewhat general question for a third time, he suspected she might not be all that interested in life in Virginia anyway.
Miguel brushed against her arm as he put the empty pie plate down and heard her sharp intake of breath. He moved slightly closer although he did not touch her. Just enough for her to be aware of him, even if she pretended she wasn’t.
Trouble was, it was damn disturbing for him, too.
• ♥ •
Tonight was the dance.
In her room Saturday morning, Elizabeth tried to decide what to wear. She finally decided to wear the gray silk, even though she felt the neckline a bit low. She could wrap one of Olga’s softly woven shawls around her shoulders. She had just finished her bath in the oaken tub in her room when there was a knock on the door.
Cactus Flower entered at her summons. “I thought you might want to wear this.”
Elizabeth gasped, looking at the most stunningly beautiful gown she’d ever seen. The fabric was emerald green silk, which would set off her eyes and hair. She slipped it on. The bodice was fitted with an embroidered circle under the bustline. The gathered material spread out like flower petals, making the neckline scalloped, exposing just a hint of cleavage. The skirt hugged her hips softly and hung in soft swirls to the floor, eliminating the need for a crinoline. The fashion was very European.
“Where did you find this?” she asked.
“Among some trunks in the attic,” Cactus Flower answered. “I was looking for something for myself, but everything was too long.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Could this be Katy’s dress? She probably left a lot behind when she ran off with that drifter. Cactus Flower had told her Miguel brought Katy fancy clothes.
“Was this Katy’s?”
Cactus Flower frowned. “I don’t know. I never saw her wear it. But she was tall, like you are.”
Could she wear something that belonged to Miguel’s former mistress? It was so beautiful, though, and the fit was perfect. Her diamond sparkled brilliantly at her throat, catching the green fire of the silk. Elizabeth twirled and felt the fabric swing out and then settle softly. Ummm. Miguel had been so cool to her and then she discovered that hussy with him. Maybe letting him see her in this would stir his interest again. As much as she hated to admit it, she did want his attention. She hadn’t been able to get the rescue out of her mind. She wanted to feel his arms around her again and maybe that did make her as much of a hussy as she was blaming Miss Parsons and Sharee of being, but she had felt lonely and cold with Miguel gone This dress should spike his interest. At least, she hoped so.
• ♥ •
She stood with Cactus Flower just inside the double barn doors that evening, her cloak wrapped tightly around her to keep the evening chill away. Inside, oil lamps hung suspended on ropes which stretched the length of the barn on either side. Braziers burned along each wall, bringing a cheery, bright warmth to the building.
Miguel approached them. “Your wraps, ladies?” He took the one Cactus Flower handed him. “Swift Hawk chose not to come?”
Cactus Flower shrugged. “He said he wouldn’t, but Elizabeth may have changed his mind.”
Miguel gave her an odd look. “You asked him to come?’
“No,” Elizabeth said quickly. “You know I don’t like the comments he’s always making about my red hair. Here.” She handed him her cloak.
Miguel stiffened. His face blanched, leaving his dark eyes stark in contrast. The cloaks slipped from his hands. “Where—where did you get that dress?”
Elizabeth had hoped it would get his attention, but she hadn’t expected anything like this. Did he really think her that beautiful in it? She spun around for him, the skirt gently sweeping his leg. “Do you like it?”
As if the material had scorched him, he sprang into action, bending to retrieve the fallen cloaks. When he straightened, color was high in his face and his eyes gleamed with a strange light. “You have no idea,” he managed in a raspy whisper that was nearly inaudible before he turned and walked away.
Elizabeth watched him, puzzled. It wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected.
“May I have this dance?” Beauregard asked with a courtly bow.
Before she knew it, Elizabeth was spinning around and around to a sprightly polka. She danced another dance with him, before other men started cutting in. Each one gave in none too graciously as another would claim her.
The evening was a blur. She caught sight of Miguel several times, always well away from her. What bothered her more than his refusing to meet her eye was Miss Parsons clinging to him. Or did she? Maybe Miguel had invited that slinky feline for lunch that day. He seemed to be laughing at her jokes, and he certainly was not keeping her at arm’s bay.
They lined up for the Virginia Reel. At any other time, Elizabeth would have been delighted to participate in a dance she’d always though so courtly and romantic. At least, as the two lines facing each other crisscrossed their dancers and started down the center, he would be forced to acknowledge her. But his touch, when he took her hand in his and twirled her and retreated, was impersonal. What in the world was wrong with him?
The dance finished, and Abigail plucked at his sleeve. “I’m so thirsty after that. Would you fetch me some fruit punch?” She purred and gave Elizabeth a satisfied smile. Elizabeth could almost see her licking her whiskers.
Luckily, Beauregard asked her for a dance and she readily accepted, glad not to be there when Miguel returned. When the dance was finished, she excused herself, needing to get some fresh air.
She was standing near the door, her back to it, when someone brushed her arm. Turning, she stumbled back in shock.
Swift Hawk stood there, a s
trange smile on his face. For once, he wore western clothes. All black from his boots to his pants and shirt. He’d tied the raven-blue hair back with a strip of black leather, but the hawk’s feather dangled from it. His black eyes looked like ebony in the firelight and his dark face was a series of hard angles. He was not unhandsome, Elizabeth thought remotely, but he had a dangerous air.
“Dance with me, Fire Woman. Don Miguel appears to be occupied.”
She glared at him. “Why should that matter to me?”
He shrugged. “It shouldn’t. You have been watching him.”
“How long have you been here?” She would never get used to the Indian’s silent stealthy approaches. Always, he nearly made her jump out of her skin.
“Long enough. Ah.” He tilted his head to listen to the music. “Is this not what the white man calls…a waltz?” He took her hand in his and brought the other arm around her waist, pulling her close. Too close.
“Let go of me,” Elizabeth hissed.
He spun around, surprising her with his grace. “Not this time. Not until this dance is over.” His hand slid along her back toward her buttocks. “I intend to make you mine, Fire Woman. The son of a chief never backs down.”
• ♥ •
A lot of good it did Miguel to stay away from Elizabeth. Seeing her at lunch that day and now tonight in that dress, he wondered if he were a blithering fool. On the way back from Fort Worth, he’d deliberately avoided looking at the swell of her breasts pushing against the bodice of the gown Lily had lent her. He imagined her nipples becoming taut buds as they pressed for release against the fabric. Even better, he could see himself stopping the team, and ripping the thin fabric from her and suckling those pink tips himself, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy and then pausing, making her beg for more.
He thought he’d gotten himself under control these past days, and could revert back to his easy teasing of her. And then she’d shown up wearing that dress.
How had she found it? And why had she gone to the attic, anyway?
Catch a Dream Page 13
