A Midwest Summer Night's Dream (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Cate Masters

  When the door opened, Mrs. Wilson wiped her hands on her apron, her face alighted in a smile. “Why, Jeb. It’s so good to see you.” Her blonde hair, pulled back in a bun, was shot through with gray. Like most women west of the Mississippi, her lean muscles gave testament to her hard life.

  “Likewise, Miz Wilson. This is Miss Young. I wondered whether you might be able to put her up overnight.”

  Nervousness made Winona’s movements stiff as she stepped forward, hand extended. “It’s only one night. I’m leaving on the stage due in tomorrow morning.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s sparkling gray eyes took her in as they shook hands. “Certainly. Please come in, Miss Young. Jeb.” She opened the door wide.

  Should’ve said pleased to meet you. One day Winona’s brusque manner would get her in trouble. “I’m very sorry to intrude on you like this. I’ll compensate you for your troubles, of course.” Hopefully not more than the hotel. She had scarce few funds.

  “Nonsense, my dear. We’re happy to have company. It’s been too long since we’ve had news from outside Tipton. And our guests all pitch in to help.” Mrs. Wilson frowned. “But where will you stay then, Jeb?”

  “I’ll stay at the saloon tonight.”

  The man’s graciousness made Winona wonder. “I had no idea I’d be putting you out as well, Mr. Greene.” Why hadn’t he mentioned it?

  “No trouble, Miss. I impose on Doc and Miz Wilson’s hospitality enough.”

  Heat bloomed on her cheeks at the inference she was now imposing further.

  “It’s never an imposition, Jeb. We love having you. But you will come for dinner tonight. Doc and I insist.” The doctor’s wife turned to Winona. “It’s so seldom we get to see him.”

  “Are you related?” She could see no resemblance.

  Mrs. Wilson giggled like a young girl. “Heavens, no. Although Jeb is like a son to us.” She wrinkled her nose. “A son in sore need of a bath.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “And a shave, I’m afraid.”

  “You stay away from civilization too long.”

  “As long as I can.” He grinned.

  Mrs. Wilson laid a hand on his arm. “Doc’s out at the Walker place. Emily had her baby last week, and he wanted to stop by to check on them. He may be late, and I wondered if you might do some chores for me.”

  “Anything.”

  Mrs. Wilson shuffled to the table. “I could use a few things from the store so Miss Young and I can get started on the dinner biscuits. Then we’ll need some wood. Doc’s been so busy, and lately my arthritis prevents me from more difficult chores.”

  Jeb nodded.

  The woman lowered her voice, not enough so Winona couldn’t hear. “And a bottle of brandy. You know the kind Doc likes.” Her voice lilted as it rose. “Then you’ll have just enough time to get cleaned up before dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took the slip of paper from her, and touched the brim of his hat. “Anything I can get for you, Miss Young?”

  His kindness took her aback. “No, thank you, Mr. Greene.” If only the men in Philadelphia had shown such consideration, she mightn’t have left.

  As he headed to the door, Mrs. Wilson said, “Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Young.”

  Not likely. She never expected to be fully comfortable again. Nonetheless, she lifted the bonnet from her head, glad to be free of it. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

  But she wouldn’t allow herself to get used to it. Where she was headed, it might be scarce. She’d long ago learned not to accustom herself to niceties. It only worsened the pain when they were ripped away.

  * * * *

  As Jeb closed the door, Miss Young’s reply came as a wordless murmur.

  Descending the step, he couldn’t shake her wary look—if wariness wasn’t, in fact, curiosity. Since he’d brought her to the Wilsons’, she looked at him with renewed interest. At him instead of through him. He wasn’t fool enough to believe her interest was personal. Probably her studious nature trying to get a handle on him, his true self. Likely so she’d have more reason to avoid him.

  Nearing the saloon, laughter drew him inside. Lester stood at the bar, head tilted back as he emptied his glass. He set it down and shoved it toward the bartender. “One more, Clive.”

  Jeb pulled a coin from his pocket and placed it on the counter. “It’s on me, Lester. And a bottle of brandy for Doc Wilson.”

  Lester turned with a wide smile. “There you are. I was afraid that woman might put you to work for the rest of the day.”

  “She didn’t, but Miz Wilson did. I’m invited for dinner, but if you’re around afterward, I’ll catch up with you then.”

  “You’re having dinner with the Wilsons? And with her?” Lester’s emphasis on her and his expression conveyed surprise.

  “Like I usually do, yes.” No sense making any more of it.

  Lester raised a shot glass in cheers. “Good luck, my friend.”

  Jeb chuckled. “I’ve faced worse.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle. “I have to go see to Clementine. I’ll be back later.”

  “If they don’t busy you with more chores.”

  Jeb wouldn’t refuse Mrs. Wilson anything. Not after he’d counted on her generosity over the years.

  When he turned to leave, he met Julius Pickering’s keen gaze. A cigar clenched between his teeth, the gambler held his hand high, not high enough to conceal the challenge in his face.

  Not enough of a challenge to tempt Jeb. He’d keep his money in his pocket, where it belonged. Behind Pickering stood Maggie, less interested in the poker game than in Jeb. He’d been tempted enough times to make good on her invitation to follow her to her room and let her fill his aching arms. No one could fill his aching heart. Hannah’s lies had damaged it beyond repair. Somehow Maggie’s come-hither smile held scant appeal, and her lipstick and rouge gave her a desperate appearance.

  Lester leaned closer. “Don’t Maggie look extra pretty today? As soon as I finish this whiskey, I’m taking her upstairs.”

  Jeb clasped Lester’s shoulder. “Don’t drink too much. You’ll want to remember it.” He strode from the saloon and made his way to the dry goods store, then to the Wilsons’.

  From the paddock, Clementine’s wide eyes followed him to the porch. “I’ll be right back, Clem.”

  Mrs. Wilson opened the door. “You’re a darling, Jeb. Set those on the table.”

  “Purely selfish motives, Miz Wilson. Your home cooking’s the best.”

  “I’m making beef stew. Lucky for you I baked an apple pie earlier.”

  “Is that why my mouth’s watering?” He glanced around. “Where’s your house guest?”

  “She’s washing up. Poor thing was so frazzled from the trip. I feel badly you’re staying in the saloon, Jeb. If you prefer, you’re welcome to sleep in the barn with Clementine.”

  “That’s very kind. I may take you up on that. I’m going to see to Clem now.”

  She stirred the pot in the heart. “I’ll call you once Winona’s finished in the bath.”

  “Winona?”

  Confusion crossed Mrs. Wilson’s face. “Miss Young. I thought you knew her.”

  “No, ma’am. I met her today at the station.”

  She tilted her head, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Jebediah Greene. There’s hope for you yet.”

  He had to snuff the life from that notion. “No, you see, she—”

  “I see very clearly.” Mrs. Wilson waved him away. “Go take care of Clementine before she kicks down my fence.”

  Grateful for any excuse to get out of there, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” When she turned back to the hearth, he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and shoved it in his back pocket.

  As he entered the paddock, the Appaloosa jerked her head up and nickered.

  “Let’s go, girl.” He led her around to the barn, speaking to her all the while he unlatched her girth strap and slid off the worn leather saddle. The mare lowered her head as he unbuckled her bridle. He g
rabbed a brush and pick, and led her through the barn to the end stall. The horse stood quietly as he worked the brush down her neck and across her thick fur.

  “Here’s your treat.” He held the apple steady as her large teeth bit. He glanced out the open barn door at the house, and a movement at the second-floor window caught his eye. The curtain fluttered, and a green sleeve drew inside.

  Something in his chest fluttered, too. He averted his eyes and moved his hand across the horse’s neck. Clem turned toward him as if in question.

  He ignored his quickening heartbeat. “Let’s see your hoof.” He tapped the back of her leg and her knee relaxed, so he lifted her leg against his leg and picked the tamped mud and pebbles from her hooves, one by one. Finished, he flung open the door, slapped her rump, and she trotted out along the paddock rail. “I’ll put you back inside later.”

  “Jeb, come in for dinner.” Mrs. Wilson hung out the first-floor window and waved. He latched the gate.

  “Set your clothes outside the door. I’ll leave you some of Doc’s while I clean yours.”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Miz Wilson.” Doc only wore dressier clothes. They chafed deeper than his skin.

  “Nonsense. I insist.”

  He’d never had a chance of winning the argument. Resigned to it, he went upstairs and stripped.

  Knowing Miss Young had done the same not long before, his blood surged, collecting south of his hips. He climbed into the claw-foot tub, hoping to scrub away the image of her nakedness along with trail dust.

  Though tepid, the water invigorated him. Not only because he hadn’t had a tub bath in months. This bath water smelled of lilac. As soon as he stepped in, the scent wafted up, a reminder of who recently occupied the tub. Except for some soap suds, the water was unsullied.

  That he could hear the two women talking in the kitchen unsettled him, like some old dream half-returned. Don’t get used to the niceties of home life. It seemed a riskier gamble than any poker game, with higher stakes--his freedom. Something he’d never wager. Not after Hannah. So beautiful, so sincere, she even shed tears as she told him she’d accepted a rancher’s proposal. After four years, the memory still left his heart mangled and useless. Yep, useless. No woman had moved him since. Thankfully.

  I bear a charmed life. No one said it better than Shakespeare. Jeb could live no other way. Open skies and plenty of space suited his needs. A borrowed book now and then helped chase away loneliness. Wonder what tomes Miss Young had stashed in her trunk?

  The flash of an image through his mind stole his breath. Miss Young—Winona—dipping her hand into this water, letting it run along the skin of her arm, mass of chestnut waves pinned atop her head, long legs leaning against the tub sides, her curving bottom in the self-same spot his now sat. The vision hardened him with uncommon force. He slid under the water, let the scented water cover him. Better to drown in a porcelain tub than in his own foolishness.

  Chapter Two

  Brandishing the rolling pin like a weapon, Winona pressed the dough beneath it.

  “Ease up, honey,” Mrs. Wilson said behind her. “We want nice plump biscuits.”

  “Sorry.” Domesticity had never been Winona’s strong suit. Something the doctor’s wife surely wouldn’t understand. Winona too often squeezed the life from things by applying too much pressure, in the kitchen and beyond.

  “No need to be sorry.” The doctor’s wife smiled as she dipped the wooden spoon into the iron pot and stirred.

  When the door creaked open, Mrs. Wilson chided, “You look like a new man.”

  Winona looked up from the table. Surprise relaxed her grip on the rolling pin. Mr. Greene? The white cotton shirt and pinstriped blue slacks transformed him into a gentleman, more handsome than ever. She’d guessed correctly about his light brown hair but hadn’t imagined it with such a sheen. Minus the hat, his hair flowed in gentle waves to his shoulder. The bath softened his appearance, and even the steel had left his eyes. They looked more blue than before.

  She held his stare too long. It immobilized Jeb until she returned her focus to her work.

  “I thank you for the use of the clothes,” he said. “Has Doc returned yet?”

  “He’s in his office.”

  Jeb nodded. “Excuse me then.”

  Mrs. Wilson wiped her hand on a rag. “If only I had a daughter, I’d match her with Jeb. Such a fine man.”

  The suggestion came through clear, but Winona had no need of a match. “How long have you known him?” No harm in learning more about him.

  Easing onto a chair, Mrs. Wilson moaned. “Let’s see. The drought of forty-five, he rode into town.”

  “Eleven years ago? He must’ve been a boy.”

  She chuckled. “He and Clem both were young scalawags. Sixteen, he was. Rougher around the edges, but heart big as the Western skies. Always reading. Whenever I couldn’t find him, I knew where to look. In Doc’s library.”

  “Reading medical texts?” He had the fine hands of a doctor, but she couldn’t imagine him running a practice.

  “No. Shakespeare. Can you imagine?”

  “Shakespeare?” How she loved to read The Bard’s stories of tragedy and love, loyalty and betrayal. The stuff of real life.

  “Every trip, Jeb borrows a book. When he travels through, he swaps it for another.”

  Winona’s earlier conversation with Jeb pained her. How she’d belittled him for not valuing books. She’d shown herself to be ignorant, not him. Now she knew his reference not to be an accident. He’d recited a line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  “I’m not a reader.” Mrs. Wilson shuffled toward her. “Are you?”

  “Yes, I love books.” The one thing she couldn’t bear to part with in leaving home.

  “Really.” Her tone held a there you go hint.

  As if meeting Jeb were preordained by fate. Winona read fairy tales as a child, but never put stock in any happily ever after ending. The death of her father killed any lingering fantasy of that, leaving her mother unable to pay the debt of the newly constructed mansion. Dear father’s business sense never matched his generosity.

  “Are you all right, honey?”

  Such dark thoughts must have clouded her features. “Fine, thank you.”

  The doctor’s wife took over biscuit preparation. “Why don’t you set the table?” She nodded to the cupboard, where china plates lined the shelves.

  Yes, best if she not ruin the food. “Of course.”

  Within the quarter hour, Mrs. Wilson declared dinner ready. “Go roust the men from their roost, will you? Follow the scent of pipe smoke to next door.”

  Crossing the porch, Winona spotted the outbuilding. Smart woman, keeping the practice separate from home but close enough for convenience. Mrs. Wilson could teach her a lot. If Winona’s stay weren’t so short.

  As she approached the door, the men’s conversation drifted through the open window.

  “My clothes look better on you than they do me,” said a man.

  “No sir,” Jeb said. “If anything, I make them look good by comparison.”

  She hated to interrupt their camaraderie, but she rapped and opened the door. Struck by how they leaned back in their chairs, holding glasses of whiskey and dressed like matching bookends, she forgot to speak until the older gent rose. He removed his spectacles, the only difference, besides age, between them.

  How foolish of her. “Excuse me. Miz Wilson asked me to fetch you.”

  The doctor approached. “You must be Miss Young.”

  “Please, call me Winona.”

  “Welcome, Winona. You’re just in time. We’re famished.” After retrieving his spectacles from the desk, he extended his elbow.

  Shyness silenced her as she took his arm, but his easy banter grew infectious, and by the time they entered the house, her unease had faded. She helped ladle stew into wide bowls and set one in front of the doctor then Jeb.

  His warm hazel eyes danced with the firelight as he looked up. “Thank you
.”

  “Thank Mrs. Wilson. She saved the biscuits from my inexperienced hands.”

  The doctor’s wife placed a bowl opposite Jeb. “Nonsense. You were a tremendous help. Now eat while it’s hot.” She sat facing her husband then tsk-tsked. “Oh, the rolls.”

  Jeb rose. “I’ll get them. You’ve done enough.”

  “We’ve sure missed you around here.” Mrs. Wilson unfolded the napkin onto her lap. “Especially me.”

  With a practiced hand, Jeb tossed a napkin into a basket, piled it with biscuits, and carried it to the table. He held it out to Mrs. Wilson then the doctor then Winona.

  “Thank you.” She waited for him to sit before asking, “What exactly is it you do, Mr. Greene?”

  “Many things, Miss Young.”

  Doc Wilson said, “Jeb’s a scout, an interpreter, tracker, and explorer.”

  All those things sounded like hobbies. “I don’t understand. How do you make your living?”

  Jeb chuckled. “However I like, Miss Young.”

  So elusive. Must be hiding something untenable. “Where is your home?”

  “I was born in Virginia. I left home when I was thirteen.”

  So young, though wanderlust had infected her at the same age. “So you have no home?”

  “It would seem to be the case.” His smile was thin.

  “What is your next exploit?”

  “I thought I’d ride west.” He dipped a roll into his stew.

  “For what purpose?”

  “Because I want to.”

  At his sharp tone, Mrs. Wilson looked up in surprise.

  “I see.” Winona smiled in apology at her hosts and hoped they’d forgive her inquisitiveness. Even if Jeb couldn’t. Had she known how her probing would upset him, she wouldn’t have bothered. Men were harder to read than Braille, though she’d enjoy interpreting Jeb’s fine physique by feel.

  The thought caused her to flush with heat and wiped away her appetite. For food. What in blazes was wrong with her? She’d never entertained such wicked notions before. Where Jebediah Greene was concerned, she never should. His scowl alone served as warning.