by Cate Masters
He tossed his hat onto the bureau, and frowned at his dirt-encrusted shirt and trousers. No sense taking a bath and wearing these old duds. He clomped downstairs again. “Where can I find reasonable ready-to-wear?” His spare duds had worn almost as much as the ones he wore.
The clerk jerked his thumb. “Floyd Haines’s dry goods. Two blocks down.”
After thanking the man, Jeb hurried to find it. In the window of the store next to Haines, a cornflower blue dress brought him to an abrupt halt. Winona would look beautiful in it. And she’d need something nice to wear to find a job. Within minutes, he carried a large white box into Haines’ store, where he hastily selected new trousers, a charcoal shirt, socks and skivvies.
Whistling, he reentered the hotel and hurried upstairs. Knocking on the door, he shifted his feet. “You done with the bath yet?”
“Yes,” she called from within. “It’s all yours.”
“Open up.”
“I’m not decent.”
All the more reason. “Just open up.”
“No.”
Damn stubborn fool. He turned the handle. Not locked. Fumbling the box, he slid open the door wide enough to push it through.
She yelped. “What are you doing? Get out.” The door crushed his arm.
“Ow! Here, take it.” The box jerked from his grasp and his fingers cleared the jamb before the door slammed shut.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered, and strode to the end of the hall.
A creak sounded, and Winona asked, “What’s this?”
Caution told him not to turn around, not to look. But he did. His gut twisted with warmth. Wrapped in a towel, her shoulders and arms bare, she held the dress in front of her.
“It’s”—he croaked and cleared his throat—“it’s for you. The seamstress said come back for alterations. Oh, and she’s looking for help.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “It’s lovely.”
So was she. It took all he had not to rush back to her, toss the dress aside. And the towel. Test how well the bed springs held up under double pressure.
With forced steps, he walked ahead and flipped the sign from Open to In Use before entering the wide room. He rounded the privacy screen to where the claw-foot tub sat, still full of water.
A knock sounded, and then a man said, “I must empty the water.”
“Don’t bother. It’s fine.” Jeb had shared her bath water before. His groin tightened, imagining her reclining naked. Her skin glistening wet. “Oh hell.” If he didn’t sully the water, it would be a miracle.
* * * *
Fabric swished as Winona twirled in the dress. She’d never owned anything so beautiful. A bit roomy on her lanky frame, but she’d visit that seamstress and ask about the job, too. Imagine Jeb doing all that for her, especially after his callous behavior. Provoked by guilt?
Her breath caught when another knock came at the door. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
A part of her wanted to freeze time, keep all the questions unanswered. She didn’t know if she could bear to hear the truth, but she opened the door.
Hair slicked back, jaw rosy from his recent shave, Jeb looked so handsome in his new clothes. He took her breath away. The way he stared at the dress reminded her. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back everything I owe.”
“No, you needed something to start work. And for dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, you’re coming out with me tonight.”
“Jeb, you’ve done enough. I can’t.”
“We’re going. Come on.” He stepped to the side, gave a little bow and gestured.
She glanced back, at first searching for her shawl, but remembered she had none. The old silk drawstring didn’t do the dress justice, but she grabbed it from her bag.
Sashaying past, she said, “I will repay you for all your kindnesses.”
At his slow blink, she waited for some smart response. When none came, she took his arm. “Where are we going?”
“A restaurant around the corner looked fine.”
Odd, how he kept his attention ahead, not giving her so much as a glance. Here she thought she’d impress him, all dressed up. It just proved she’d never get a handle on him.
All through dinner, he stared at his plate. His napkin. The man serving them. Oh, he had plenty of smiles for the server. Not for her. With each minute, he grew stiffer, his speech more stilted.
“Sell the pony. It will give you enough to get by until you find a job.”
“Jeb, I don’t know how to thank you.” She’d gladly show her gratitude in other ways if he indicated the slightest interest.
“No need.” He set his napkin atop the table. “I should get you back. You’re surely as weary as me from the trip. Neither of us are thinking straight.”
For the first time, he met her gaze. The weight of it pinned her to the chair. Without thinking, she said, “Yes,” but not to his suggestion.
He rose and pulled out her chair, waiting for her to make an exit. They strolled to the hotel side by side. In the hallway outside their rooms, Jeb whispered, “Good night.”
Winona sensed the opportunity slipping through her hands. “Jeb.”
Heat shone in his eyes as he paused, hand on the door knob.
She wanted to free herself from where her feet had taken root, link her arms around his neck. Force him to see her need of him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“Stay.”
He searched her face. When his gaze fell to her mouth, she fought the internal tug pulling her toward him.
Finally, he said, “I can’t. Cities close in on me.” He ducked his head. “There’s nothing for me here.” He pushed inside.
“I’m here,” she whispered, but whether he heard or not, only silence answered.
Throughout the sleepless night, she listened hard for any sign of him leaving. Close to dawn, she must have fallen asleep. When she awoke, she struggled into her dress and was still fastening the last button when she knocked on his door. After a moment, she knocked harder. “Jeb.” But she knew he hadn’t heard. He couldn’t have. She’d lay odds Clementine’s stall sat empty.
As empty as her heart.
Chapter Seven
Two weeks on the trail, and Jeb found himself headed back to San Francisco. To check on Miss Winona, he told himself. Make sure she didn’t need anything. Like him. God knew he needed her. He couldn’t stomach eating, couldn’t sleep without her beside him. He needed her.
When he checked with the hotel clerk, dread gripped him when the clerk said she’d left the day he did. “Did she say where?” Oh, Lord, she hadn’t tried to follow him into the wilderness…
“If I recall, she began work at Pearl Stuart’s dress shop on Twentieth.”
Relief melted his frozen muscles. “I know where it is, thanks. Do you know what time it closes?”
“Five o’clock, I believe.”
Barely enough time to make himself presentable. “Any rooms available? And a stall for my horse. I’ll need a bath right away.”
At the clerk’s “Yessir,” he rushed upstairs, wishing he could afford new clothes. He hadn’t had a chance to launder the others. Nor could he wait for the hot bath to cool, so endured it long enough to clean up. By the time he reached Miss Pearl’s, the clock in the tower began to strike five.
Jeb smoothed his hair across his head. He felt naked without his hat. This shirt chafed him in all the wrong ways. He wanted Miss Winona to walk beside him with pride. If she would walk with him at all. Stopping at the saloon had been a bad idea. She’d smell the whiskey on his breath and straighten her spine in that way she had…
No. Best to stop thinking like that right now.
A full-figured woman appeared in the window and flipped the Welcome sign to Closed. Before she disappeared entirely, he ran up the steps and banged on the door.
Inside, the woman turned, confused and frightened.
“
Is Winona Young here?” He hoped he came across as friendly rather than the desperate lunatic he felt like. He forced a smile.
Chest billowing, the woman opened the door. “Miss Young has just left with her fiancé.”
Her words punched him in the gut. “What? Where?”
Her pursed lips conveyed her displeasure. “The saloon around the corner. I can’t understand why Miss Young spends time with such a ruffian, but I suppose it’s her business.”
The saloon? Winona would never go there. And who in hell called himself her fiancé?
Remembering his manners, he muttered, “Thank you, ma’am” and rushed off without thinking to ask the name of the place. Rounding the corner, saloons crowded the street. He stopped at each one to scan the crowd through the window.
His heart thudded to a stop when he caught sight of her, spine straight as always, tall even sitting. Facing away from the window, she still wore her bonnet, further obscuring her face. The burly man at the table looked familiar, rough in his dirty clothes.
Unable to turn and walk away, Jeb slipped inside, careful to remain out of her line of sight. He had to learn why. Why she’d come here with such a man. Whether her stiff demeanor indicated unhappiness, or she merely acted prim and proper, as befitted an—he gulped—engaged lady.
Engaged? To a ruffian?
At the bar, Jeb ordered a whiskey and nursed it. Should he approach her? No, not yet. He moved to a corner table to study her. Study them together.
Careful not to scrape the chair on the floor, he eased down. A bottle sat on the table in front of the man. Winona’s glass appeared to contain water. The man poured himself a drink, held the bottle toward her glass, but she shook her head. Whatever they discussed, neither appeared pleased. The man glanced up and met Jeb’s stare.
Same as meeting the appraising scowl of a wolf, the hairs on Jeb’s neck tingled. He stilled beneath the weight of the man’s glare. Like in the wild, he dropped his focus to his glass to signal submission. Jeb had no quarrel with the man. Other than he yearned to sit beside Winona in his place.
“An old friend of mine is here.”
The voice sounded familiar, but Jeb couldn’t place it. He lifted his whiskey glass and relished its burn going down. On a slow blink, he focused on the next table over, where a friendly face from Tipton smiled back at him.
Maggie sat with an elderly gent. By the looks of it, his hand was working under her skirts. She looked as thrilled as a polecat finding a rotten piece of meat. Maggie liked her meat fresh, too, Jeb was given to understand.
“Jeb.” Her smile would’ve curdled milk. She pushed away from the old man and swished her hips behind him. “I hoped to run into you. Guess this city’s not so big after all. Come on, let me buy you a drink. You look like you could use a whiskey. And a friendly ear.”
“I am in sore need of both, Maggie.” Glancing up, he met Winona’s open-mouthed stare, which traveled to Maggie, then back to him.
Winona’s companion likewise watched her then Jeb.
Oh, Shakespeare would have laughed at the scene.
Maggie linked her arm through Jeb’s and pulled him down the hall to where the private rooms were. Appointed with matching velvet sofas, these rooms were not for overnight guests, but those seeking temporary shelter of another kind.
Maggie nodded to the waiter, who hastily followed to hand her a bottle of whiskey.
“Come and tell me all about it.” She guided him to a sofa. He slumped down into the cushions. Perched next to him, she opened the bottle. “This will cure what ails you.” She reached for the overturned glasses waiting on the table on a tray, and poured two doubles.
“I thought I knew what ailed me, but every time I talk to her, things come out all wrong.” He sipped then held the glass against his chest.
Maggie leaned against him, her arm curled behind his head. “Some people make it hard to talk to them.” Her fingers twirled his hair, even as she reached to refill her glass to the rim.
“Yes.” He leaned forward and set his drink on the table. “But it wasn’t like that before. When we were out on the trail, Winnie listened to me. And was a quick study, too. You should have seen how fast she learned to speak Osage. And to farm crops. And to tend my wounds.” He let out a sharp breath. “It was good between us. Until she got here. Now she’s with him?”
As she dragged him back against the sofa, Maggie’s mouth was very near his ear. “The city changes some people.” Her lips touched his lobe, and his neck.
He closed his eyes, let himself imagine Winona sat beside to him. “I came here to propose.”
“Jeb,” she whispered, her mouth warm and tender against his cheek. Whiskey soured the air when her lips met his, and he grasped the back of her neck. Her hair was coarse, not silken. And hard liquor gave her an even harder appearance.
His hand moved to her cheek and pushed gently. “I can’t, Maggie.”
“Honey, I don’t want to marry you. I just want you for a little while.” Her palm cupped his crotch.
He couldn’t respond to her even then. “She ruined me for any other woman.”
Not even the candlelight was kind to Maggie. Her weariness showed in the lines around her eyes and mouth, exaggerated by her sad, lopsided smile. “Sweetie, you do have it bad. You better have another drink.”
He’d accept that much. He was paying for it, after all.
“How is it that you managed to fall in love with a society girl?”
A laugh burst from Jeb. He rubbed his eyes. “She said she was running away from society. She seemed so at ease out in the wilderness. Like she belonged there.”
Maggie kicked her boots off and pulled her feet up under her. “No woman belongs there, exceptin’ maybe a squaw.” She gulped her whiskey.
“No, Winona took to living out there as well as I did. As beautiful and refined as she is, she didn’t complain, didn’t ask for anything except when she wanted to learn something.”
“Why aren’t you going after her, then?” she slurred.
The woman’s drunkenness brought him fully sober. “She’d never have me. She deserves some fine prospect.”
“You’re a fine prospect. You said you came to propose. Go do it.”
“I’m too late. She’s already engaged to that fellow.”
“She looked none too happy.”
“It’s her choice. Besides, I’m just a trail rider. I can wear nice clothes, but that doesn’t make me a gentleman. I can’t offer her any of the fine things she deserves.”
“Maybe she’d rather have you. You’ll never know unless you ask her.”
“Maggie, you’re a good woman. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
“I’d rather be more, but you won’t let me.”
His fingers dug in his pocket and drew out several bills. “I’ll say goodnight, Miss Maggie. It’s been a pleasure.”
“It could have been more of a pleasure.”
“I’ve no doubt of your skills, ma’am. Your company most of all.”
“You are a true gentleman, Jeb.”
A bang at the door startled them. It burst open, the older gent firmly in the clutches of another smiling wench. “Off with you,” she said as they stumbled to the sofa. “You’re not even using the room for what it’s intended.”
Maggie pulled Jeb to his feet before the two landed on him then bent to collect her shoes and handed Jeb the bottle. “Take it. It’ll keep you better company than I could.”
The old man fell onto the sofa with the girl atop him. He untied the front lacings of her dress and fondled her breast with a grunting laugh.
“Come on, Jeb, or you’ll get a show you may not want.”
As she pushed him into the hallway, he froze at the sight of Winona at the end of the hallway, watching. Maggie drew the door closed, halted, and then straightened her hair.
The walls seemed to undulate. “Winona.”
Her face flushed with pain a
nd fury. She rushed away with a whimper.
Maggie touched his arm. “I’ll see to her.”
“Don’t bother. I’m going to find Clementine.” He strode down the hall toward the front doors and blinked as the cool night air washed over his face. He crossed the road toward the stable, where the only dependable female he’d ever known waited for him.
* * * *
Winona gasped at the knock on the pantry, the first door she’d come across. Too soft to be Jeb. She called, “Yes?”
“I need to speak with you, miss.” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, but she could guess who stood on the other side.
“I’m very busy.” She folded her shawl, as if to convince herself.
“It’ll take but a moment. You need to hear what I have to say.”
What he paid you to say, no doubt. “That’s not necessary, thank you.”
No sound issued from beyond the door. Not even footsteps. But then, she hadn’t been wearing shoes.
“If I were in your place, I wouldn’t trust me, either. But, darlin’, you are causing more pain than you realize.”
Winona yanked the door wide. “I’m causing pain? That’s quite a statement, coming from you.”
The woman stepped inside. “You witnessed nothing, sweetheart. There was nothing to witness. Except two people sharing some whiskey.”
She snorted. “I’m sure you shared more than that.”
“Yes. His confidence. And if you had a lick of sense, you’d be running out there to find him before he rides off, for good. When he wants to disappear, you will never find him. And you should listen to what he has to say. Unless you’re set on marrying that miner.”
She turned her back, and rubbed her arms. The one thing she was set on was not marrying that miner. But she needed to find a way out of it. “Why should I listen to him?”
“He claims you’ve ruined him for any other woman.”
She whirled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
