Harmony again attempted to catch Alice’s eyes. For a fleet second she glanced over in his direction, and then pointedly looked away. He decided to take control of the situation. He prepared to go to her, slow-walk and serious face be damned. He’d just put one foot in front of the other, preparing to go to Alice, when another young gent stepped in front of her.
A lump rose in his throat as he watched Alice head out to the dance floor with another man. Again, while dancing, he saw her stick out her chin and mouth the words “I got your letter.”
And so it went on. For the next hour, Harmony watched this same pantomime play itself out over and over again. The worst was during a reel—watching the object of his affection tell each new partner she spun to in the reel “I got your letter.”
His blood was really boiling now, and not from passion. Did Alice really think every man in the hall was a better choice than he? She didn’t meet his eye once the entire night. At first, he shared his silent frustration—and then outrage—with Melody, as they exchanged looks from across the room. But now, even his sister had deserted him. He narrowed his eyes at the boy his sister seemed so enthralled with. He wanted the pup to know Melody’s older brother had his eyes on him.
Girls kept sidling over to Harmony all night long trying to get a dance out of him. For a minute, he thought maybe he’d take one up on the offer and enjoy himself. Then, he thought of Alice—and knew he didn’t want to be with anyone else. The whole night was a disaster. He might as well go home.
He’d made up his mind to grab his coat and go when the crowd parted again. Alice stood across the room, eyes fixed on him. His heart melted, and though, in his mind he was giving her the look and sauntering across the room toward her, leading with one shoulder and then the other, his feet remained rooted to the spot.
With eyes still on him, Alice thrust her chin forward but with less conviction than he’d seen her do all night. She crossed the room, putting one delicate dove-gray boot in front of the other. The crowd parted for her as she walked with her shoulders squared. Then she was standing in front of him.
She looked up at him, trying to look confident, but her eyes were blinking out a fast tune.
“I got your letter,” she said, in a quiet voice.
Harmony couldn’t find the words to respond and so just stared at her. His mouth was so dry, he couldn’t loosen his tongue from the roof of his mouth. As he watched, her green-brown eyes filled with tears.
“Guess I was wrong.” She started to turn away.
He plucked her sleeve to spin her around again. “No, you got that right. Finally. Though it appears you hoped it was anyone except me. You tried that line on every available man here until you worked out it was me. If you had started in on that crowd next, I’d have left,” he said, pointing at group of grizzled Civil War veterans, one in a wheelchair. “I’m not feeling too good about that. You ignored me.”
“Now you know how it feels,” she said, her lips pouting in a way that made him want to crush them with his own. “You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for months.”
“I’m sorry, Alice. I’d give anything to get those months back—”
“I cried into my pillow every night. I didn’t understand what I did to make you turn your back on me. I was nearly over you—nearly—when I got the letter. My first thought was of you. But I didn’t dare hope. Wishing can put knowing off course.” She laughed a little. “I even got out every scrap of paper I had with your writing on it to compare. All the clues you sent me over the years for mysteries to solve. It made me laugh. I wanted to read them to you because we were so funny back then. But then, I remembered you weren’t talking to me…and I felt so lonely.”
“I know how you felt. So many times I wanted to share something with you. I’d start to turn toward you, but you weren’t there. My heart was empty. I wasn’t thinking what I was doing to you at the same time.”
“You really hurt me, Harmony.”
“Oh, Alice, I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t set out to stop talking to you. I just couldn’t do it because I lost my nerve. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right. I guess I’ve always loved you, but then, I fell in love with you. We’re not children anymore. My feelings changed. I want you the way a man wants a woman,” he said in a husky voice.
Her face softened then, and her eyes turned a deep green. She put her fingertips on his lapel in a tentative way. When he let out a long breath full of longing, she flattened out her whole hand on his chest, filling his heart under her touch with warmth.
“You’re my prince. I want you, too.”
They both looked at her hand on his chest, each of them feeling too much to express in one moment. At last, she spoke in a shaky voice. “You look very handsome tonight.”
“You take my breath away. You’re a beautiful woman. I like your hair like this,” he said, tracing a finger around her up-swept hair full of coils and braids.
She giggled, relieved to be moving on to a less weighty subject. “It was more work than you’d think to get it like this. I needed help.”
“Well, I think it does look like it would be a lot of work. But, you know, I like it down just as well. And your dress is really something. What do you call that color? Pink? Purple?”
She shook her head, amused, and rested her hand on his cheek, which sent flames of desire licking at his body. “Lavender. The color is called lavender.”
He put his hand over her hand on his face. “You should wear it all the time. It shows your auburn hair and hazel eyes to advantage.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why Harmony, I didn’t even know you noticed my eye color before.”
“I notice everything about you. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too, you big idiot,” she said, taking his hand and pressing it to her lips.
“I was an idiot. Wasting time. I was afraid, though. I thought you’d never speak to me again if I made a pass at you.”
“If you don’t make a pass at me I may never speak to you.”
He put his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. He was right. His hands fit around her waist. Her lips were tantalizingly close. “You mean if I kiss you, you won’t gut-punch me?”
“Who can predict what I’ll do?” she said, and then laughed. “Of course not. I’ve thought about kissing you for years.”
“Years?”
“Yes, years. Girls mature faster than boys. I used to practice kissing you like this.”
She pushed back her sleeve and crooked her arm, shoulder height. Then looking up at him through lowered lashes, she pressed her lips to the flesh of her arm. Harmony took in a deep breath. Oh, Lord! If she didn’t stop doing that, people were going to tease him about more than his suit. He took her hand in his to stop her.
“You can stop practicing on your arm. I’m standing right in front of you.”
She pretended to look shocked. “Not in front of everyone! I hear you don’t need practice, though.” She frowned, hurt in her eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sally said you’re a real good kisser.”
“Sally is a real good fabricator. I never kissed her…or any girl before.”
She lit up. “I’m glad to hear that. I should have known, because when she lies…”
“She opens her eyes wide and looks to the left. I noticed that.”
“Me too,” she said, with a tinkling laugh.
“What about you? Have you kissed a boy?”
She shook her head “no” to his question.
“What happened out there on the dance floor with Johnny? It looked like he was taking credit for my letter. Then, you left him standing there.”
She shrugged and smiled until her dimples popped. “When he got to talking, I realized a man so full of his own charms wouldn’t bother keeping his identity a secret. He thinks a girl would be lucky to have him, not the other way around—or that they’re lucky to have each other. Besides,
I decided even if he were the author, I wasn’t interested. I didn’t see the need to spend one more second with him. I was like the prince with the glass slipper looking for my Cinderella.”
Harmony traced her face with his fingertips, starting at her nose, and then moving to her high cheekbones, and ending at her chin.
“It occurs to me I’ve never really touched you before, except on accident. It’s nice.”
“I guess you’re right. Except for the time we were fighting over an Indian arrowhead we found and ended up wrestling.”
He laughed. “I forgot about that.”
“How could you have forgotten that! That wrestling match is one of my fondest memories. But then again, girls mature more quickly.” She buried her face against his chest. “You smell the same. I missed that. This is pretty,” she said, touching the twin hearts on his stick pin.
“Here.” He pulled the pin out of his cravat and placed it on the lace of her dress. His hand brushed her bare skin under her dress and he could feel her heart pounding. At his touch, she took in a sharp breath. “I like looking at it better on you. My pa said it’s good luck.”
“I believe we’re at a dance. Are we going to dance?”
“In a minute. There’s more I want to talk to you about. You know when I asked you to be my partner? I was talking about more than the dance tonight.” He was feeling shy now. Alice looked down and bit her lip. “I wanted to give you more than just me.”
“It’s enough…”
“No, no, listen. I want you to know you can depend on me. The other day I went to see Jim Brophy.”
“The blacksmith?”
“Yes, he’s willing to take me on as an apprentice. He said with the town growing there’d be room for another blacksmith soon. He’s going to teach me all sorts of things and not only horse shoes. I can learn how to make wrought iron gates and railings. He said I have the right body for the job.”
“Your broad shoulders, solid chest and long, powerful arms?”
“He didn’t put it in so many words.”
“Your beautiful blue eyes, your long lashes, your straight nose, and square jaw?”
“Well, he may have been thinking those things, but he kept it to himself.”
She sighed so long, she shuddered. “It’s so nice to talk to you again like this.”
“It is. I’m looking forward to years more of this.”
“What are you saying, Harmony?” she asked in a teasing voice.
“To start with, I can’t offer you much—but enough we can rent a small place. But later, I want to install you in a home of our own.”
“You want to ‘install’ me in your house? If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I wonder if you could rephrase that so I have a nice story for my grandchildren.”
“Tell you what. Let’s just start with this question. Alice, will you be my partner—on the dance floor?”
“The dance floor and anywhere else you want.”
Harmony bowed at the waist and held out his hand like he’d practiced. Alice placed her hand in his, her face beaming. They moved out onto the dance floor, their bodies fitting like they were made for each other. He knew there were other people in the room—he could feel their eyes on them—but everything but the girl in his arms was a blur.
“Aw, hell!”
Worry crossed her features. “What is it?”
“It’s just that it’s Valentine’s Day. It’s the perfect day to propose, and I don’t want to wait a full year for that day to come around again. Alice, will you marry me?”
“Harmony Buchanan, I thought you’d never ask! But hang on: I’ve been practicing my response to you for the past ten years.” She looked down a second to compose her face, and when she looked up again, she had a very serious look on her face. “My answer is yes. I will be your wife.” Then she burst out laughing, unable to maintain her somber expression.
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Say it again.”
He knew what she meant. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Crowd or no crowd, this called for a kiss. Alice lifted her face at the same time he lowered his. Her lips on his felt better than he imagined. Her arms were around his neck now, and the kiss deepened. He couldn’t stop kissing her. They stood locked in an embrace.
The music suddenly changed. No longer a dance tune, but a beautiful, classical melody, performed only by the piano. Harmony knew his mother was playing the song for him. Beethoven’s Fur Elise—For Alice. He was aware, without opening his eyes, that the room had stilled around the couple who couldn’t stop kissing.
He felt Alice in his arms, no longer only his childhood best friend but a full-bodied woman who was to be his wife. With their bodies pressed together, their two hearts beat as one. Gently, he moved his fingers up and down her spine as if he played an instrument made just for him. Playing the oldest song in the world.
About the Author—Patti Sherry-Crews
Patti Sherry-Crews lives in Evanston, Illinois, with her two children and husband. She has a degree in anthropology/archaeology, a fifteen- year stint as a shop-owner, a fondness for the British Isles, the Old West, and performing food experiments in her kitchen.
Her aim is to create compelling characters who are smart and have interesting stories to tell. Armchair travel included.
When she’s not playing with cowboys and Indians, she writes contemporary fiction and hopes to try her hand at medieval romance in the near future. Under the name Cherie Grinnell, she has written a series of steamy romances set in Ireland and Wales.
A Respectable Woman
Gail L. Jenner
Second chances often come unexpectedly, even when the future seems hopeless.
“Wasn’t sure Marta’s letter would reach you, Chance. We weren’t even sure you were still in Kansas. And I know the offer ain’t much—”
Chance Riebold held up a hand. “It beat anything else I had up my sleeve, Frank.”
Frank Gracie shrugged. “Well, I’m glad they figured it out before you spent any more time behind bars. Obviously, you were framed. Anyone with a lick of horse sense would’ve known as much. And a woman like that...” He shook his head. “Even Marta said she had to be no good, and you know she ain’t a woman given to stirring up trouble.”
Chance smiled. “That’s true. Marta’s as straight up as they come.”
Frank agreed. “Truth be told, she was the one first suggested writing to you after we got the news. But I didn’t know if you’d take us up on the notion or not.”
“It was much appreciated, Frank. After walking out, I had something else entirely on my mind—”
Frank held up a gnarled hand. “Glad you decided to take a chance, Chance.” He laughed. “Truly, Lone Pine needs someone we can trust. Someone who can handle a gun, too, of course.”
Chance put a hand on his horse’s flank. The animal seemed to relax under his touch. “I only hope I can live up to your good opinion of me.”
“Hey, you proved yourself out there on the trail more times than I care to remember. Now, if you need anything—I got it down at the mercantile.”
“Thanks—”
“And I’ll have Marta bring you some supper. She makes a mean venison pie.”
Chance pulled his bedroll off the back of his horse. “Don’t think I don’t remember her meat pies. Tell her thanks, will you, Frank?”
“Absolutely. But you better plan on eating with us tomorrow or the next night. She’ll be after me for letting it slide tonight.”
Chance smiled. “Tell her I got too much trail dust to make it tonight—”
“You got it, Sheriff Riebold.” Frank grinned and tapped the edge of his hat before turning away. “I think you’ll find Lone Pine ain’t such a pitiful place. It’s on its way out, some folks say, but there are good people here, most of them just struggling to get on.”
****
Kitty twisted the mass of auburn hair into a bun. She hated her hair alm
ost as much as she hated Lone Pine. Frowning at her reflection, she knew she appeared more school marm than bar maid—but that was all right by her. The fact that she had to run this bar in Lone Pine was like salt on a raw wound.
It hurt like heck.
But there was no help for it. Her father was in no shape to do anything come most mornings, but why he’d even purchased a saloon in the first place was still a mystery. He was a dentist—or was a dentist—she thought bitterly. Now, he was nothing more than a drunk.
She pulled at her shirtwaist and took another glance. Her brown eyes were icy as they settled on the woman in the mirror. All the better to stare down the rabble that populated the bar every Friday and Saturday. All the better to steel herself against the life she and her father had once dreamed of, but now seemed inaccessible.
She turned to leave, then paused. Opening the single drawer of her bureau, she rummaged through stockings and hankies before pulling out a small leather pouch. She opened it and studied the handful of gold pieces. Sighing as she counted them, she raised her skirt and undergarments to locate the small pocket sewn into her petticoat. Her mother had carefully stitched it into the first layer of muslin before they left Massachusetts two years earlier; but it was her mother’s terse warning that still haunted Kitty.
“Katherine,” she had said after showing her the tidy needlework, “this is where you must put any bit of coin or money you have. Don’t let it out of your sight, do you understand? The West is no place for a proper young lady, and you might have need of it. Someday,” she’d repeated, “you might well have need.”
She had then handed Kitty this same pouch. At the time, there were only three coins. Now, there were twelve five-dollar gold pieces, and each day she slipped the pouch into the hidden pocket, and the money reassured her that someday—even as her mother had indicated—she would have choices about how to live her life.
The pouch had become a source of strength. And hope.
Lariats, Letters, and Lace Page 20
