Much Ado About Madams

by Jacquie Rogers

  She silently pleaded with the sun not to betray her but darkness settled over the meadow all too soon. The cool night breeze sliced through her wet bodice and probed her skin. Her dress hadn’t dried a bit and the only defense she had against the clammy material was goose bumps the size of thimbles.

  Teeth chattering, her determination faltered to the point where she wasn’t quite sure just what she was determined about. How does one huddle in a ball with any decorum? She pulled her knees to her chest, draping her skirts so not even her toes were exposed. The flickering flames of the campfire invited her to share its warmth.

  Just beyond it lay that cur of a man who had refused to take her back to Dickshooter, and who had the gall to offer her his underwear, of all things, and even thought that she, an unmarried lady, would want to share his bed!

  She tossed her head in disgust, only to huddle up again to keep the wind off her chest. I’ll catch my death of pneumonia out here. Of course, her deathbed would be better than the alternative. She sneaked a peek at the alternative in question. The odious man slept, probably warm as could be, with his hat pulled halfway over his face.

  The night, with the lonesome whisper of the wind, the fearsome howl of the wolves, and the cadence of chirping crickets fueled her fears. Surely snakes weren’t out at night, she reasoned, but wolves and bears certainly were. They might even be crouched behind the bushes this very second, waiting to pounce. She shivered again. Maybe those howls are Indian signals! She hugged her knees to her chest and pulled the blanket taut over her curled up body. Still, the wind had a way of snaking down the back of her neck.

  Her shivers now uncontrollable, Lucinda yearned for dry clothes and warm blankets. You’re a fool to risk freezing to death and being eaten. Was her respectability worth her life? Wasn’t she compromised already? The colder she got, the warmer Reese looked. And safer. He looked safe.

  Safe as a cougar waiting to pounce.

  She scooted closer to the fire, but still at twenty feet, she felt no warmth from it. Her teeth chattered.

  “Oh, piffle!” she swore under her breath.

  “I heard that snakes crawl into bed with you, seeking out heat.”

  She started at the sound of Reese’s voice, then studied him for a moment. He hadn’t moved in over an hour, but she doubted if he’d slept at all during that time. He’d been waiting for her to surrender! Shivering again, she conceded that she had to move closer to the campfire. But snakes?

  “Snakes aren’t out at night,” she huffed through her chattering teeth.

  “There, ma’am, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Snakes. Cold. Bears. Piffle! She jumped up. “That does it. You win.” She stomped toward him—definitely unladylike, but then, she didn’t feel very ladylike at the moment. Standing beside him, she said, “Open your bedroll and let me in.”

  Not moving a muscle, he replied, “Not with wet clothes, darlin’. Change into those long-handles I gave you.”

  He still reclined with his hat pulled over his face. At least she didn’t have to look at his smug face. “I will not change clothes in the presence of a man.”

  “You’ll get mighty cold before the night’s over, then. Could even freeze to death.”

  She studied the offensive apparel in question lying on his saddlebags.

  “I feel mighty privileged to be ranked right up there with snakes and wolves. Makes a man proud.”

  A gust of wind started her teeth chattering again. She had already decided to do whatever it took to get warm, but her thread of hope that she’d be able to maintain decorum in the interim died. “A . . . All right, I’ll change. But don’t look!”

  “Darlin’, I’d sooner look at a coiled-up rattler. It’d have a better disposition.”

  Lucinda frowned. It wasn’t her fault that this man didn’t know how to treat a lady, she mused to herself, even if she did feel like a fake. He didn’t know her origins. Without another thought, she grabbed the long-handles from the saddlebags and circled around him until she was above his supine head. He couldn’t see her there, she thought, and she wasn’t about to brave going behind the bushes.

  With the blanket still draped around her, she managed to get her dress unbuttoned. She let it slide down to a puddle around her feet. The petticoats followed. Unlacing her corset was another matter. Her fingers were stiff from the cold. Why hadn’t she bought one of those new front-fastening corsets? Finally, after considerable difficulty, she felt it loosen. She let it drop on top of the petticoats and dress. Her chemise flapped in the wind when she yanked it off and donned the long-handles, faster than she’d ever dressed before. Her uncontrollable shivering and the chattering of her teeth gave her no time for further contemplation before she plunged inside Reese’s bedroll.

  “Hmmmm,” she moaned. The warm bedroll more than made up for the hard ground.

  “Scoot closer to me and I’ll heat you up,” he offered.

  His tone was gentle, not at all arrogant or lewd. Besides, the heat radiating from his body called to her survival instinct. She complied. As she inched toward him, he reached out and pulled her tight against his chest. The warmth was wonderful but the shock of her cold breasts touching his warm chest took her breath away.

  Rarely had she ever been touched by a man. Never had she been embraced. Tingles went from her breasts to the pit of her stomach to . . . “No!” She pushed away from him.

  * * * * *

  Drat and thunderation! Reese cursed silently. What was this woman’s problem? Give her a little body heat and she went nuts.

  “Just relax and go to sleep. I won’t hurt you, and I certainly wouldn’t think of forcing myself on you.” He held the shivering woman to his chest again, sorry that she had to practically freeze to death before she could see any sense, and wishing she were quivering at his touch instead of shivering from cold.

  Bah! The schoolmarm was about the last person on the face of this world he’d want to dally with. Still, those small round breasts, pert from the cold, were more than a little tempting. One taste and he could forget all about her, just like he’d always done with women. He massaged her back. She flinched.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m just getting the blood circulating so you’ll heat up faster.”

  She relaxed in his arms. Barely, ever so faintly, he heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

  She wouldn’t thank him if she knew what he’d been thinking—or how his body was reacting, for that matter. No, she wouldn’t thank him at all. And he didn’t have any shortage of heat at the moment, either. He battled his body for control. She’d have a conniption fit if she had any idea what she was doing to him!

  He dared not move, for fear she’d shy like a skittish filly. Sleep evaded him until the wee hours of morning.

  * * * * *

  Reese’s tender kiss sent her floating in rapture. She begged for more, wrapped in the security of his masculine caress. Then, Indians shrieked war cries behind a boulder, their tomahawks raised, while bloody scalps dripped blood from their waistbands. She huddled into the security of Reese’s embrace, his breath singing love songs on the nape of her neck.

  He held her close. She yearned to touch his muscled chest, to meld her heartbeat with his, to explore him in places she’d never touched before, to learn his touch in return. A tingling ache deep inside her grew into a raging fire, wanting more, but not knowing what. His smooth skin and the smell of leather, tobacco, and bay rum sent messages of promises to come. Her fingertips roamed freely across his flat belly, his muscles jerking slightly as if to welcome her. She silently begged him to touch her the same way.

  A rattlesnake slithered into the bedroll. She couldn’t see it or hear it, but she felt its touch. Reese had told her this could happen! She fought her way from sleep to full alertness. Something long wiggled slightly on her backside.

  “A snake!” she screamed as she rolled over and pummeled it with her fists. It was under the blanket and it was a big one, more than an inch in diameter, and it
was on Reese’s stomach. “Reese, a snake!” She whacked it again.

  * * * * *

  “Aaargh!” Reese jumped to his feet, clutching his nether region, then realized he was holding his parts in front of a lady. He needed to curl up and groan; instead he stood as erect as he could. “Sonuvabitch, woman, that’s no snake, it’s me you’re beating half to death! Don’t you know the difference between a man’s—er, anatomy and a damned snake?”

  Lucinda clamped her hand over her open mouth. “I—I’m so sorry!” Her cheeks grew red hot. She yanked the blankets up to her chin, only to expose her bare feet and ankles. “You mustn’t curse around ladies.”

  Women. Who could ever understand them. First they love you, then they lambaste you. And this woman was worse than the lot of them with her inviting green eyes and demure manner. She had felt him up as skillfully as any whore he’d ever been with—while she’d slept. Makes a man want to get a lot of sleeping tonic.

  He gulped some air, trying to ease the pain. “You better get dressed while I collect firewood. After breakfast, I’m getting you back to Dickshooter before you do any more damage.”

  He yanked on his pants, instantly regretting his haste when the waistband slid over his still-throbbing parts. Damn that woman, anyway! He bent over and pulled on his boots, incurring even more pain, and beat a hasty retreat to the sagebrush.

  Sage fires burned hot, but not as hot as he’d been while she was sliding her hands all over his body. For a stodgy schoolmarm, that woman had some passion stored up in her! He broke off some sage twigs, and picked up some dried juniper logs. She wasn’t very old, either. Her creamy skin and nicely rounded bottom shouldn’t have been wasted on such a prude.

  His pain turned into a different kind of discomfort, one that needed assuaged. Maybe he’d use one of the ladies after all. Naw, that was out of the question. He could just see his father bedding any one of them, except Holly. But then, since she was only fifteen or so, he wouldn’t even consider using her. At twenty-eight, he was nearly twice her age. Lucinda, though, was ripe for the plucking. Just not amenable.

  He leaned over to pick up one more piece of wood, only to fumble and drop half his load. What a way to start a day, he thought, as he repacked all the wood in his arms.

  * * * * *

  Lucinda waited a few minutes to make sure he was out of sight, then threw the covers off her, stood up, and stretched in the rays of the morning sun. This beautiful land hid treasures and perils in equal abundance. Reese was definitely one of the perils. She walked over to her heap of clothing and picked up her corset, damp from the dew. The brisk, wilderness morning discouraged any thought she may have had of putting on her petticoats, wrinkled beyond use, and her dress was still damp from the previous evening’s dousing.

  She shook out her clothes as best she could, but she knew she’d freeze during the ride back to Dickshooter if she wore them. She’d been cold enough last night to know she never wanted to be that cold again. But then, she’d been warmer than she’d ever been, too.

  Piffle. Everyone in town would think she’d been compromised, anyway. She saw a blue shirt sleeve hanging out of Reese’s saddlebag. “Well, you have on a man’s underwear, why not wear his clothes, too?” she muttered. If her reputation was going to be ruined, she might as well be warm. The suffragists would agree, she was sure. Her former guardian would not, nor would respectable ladies.

  Not that she cared.

  She cared.

  His shirt fit her like a tent. The sleeves hung two inches over her hands, and the shirttail hung to her knees. She must look like that midget she’d seen at the circus, she mused. Wishing it wouldn’t smell so much like Reese, she rolled up the sleeves and found a pair of breeches. She rolled up the pantlegs several inches before she bothered to put them on. Still, she knew there was no way they’d stay up. She needed a belt.

  “Ahem, go ahead—rummage through my stuff and wear my clothes. I don’t mind.” Lucinda whirled toward Reese’s voice. He held an armful of firewood as he stared at her and smiled, but it was not a humorous smile.

  “My clothes are still wet, and I wanted to get dressed before you returned, so I . . .”

  “Went snooping in my things?”

  “The shirtsleeve was sticking out of the saddlebag . . .”

  He tossed the wood beside the firepit, then crouched and cautiously fed kindling to the barely live embers. Within moments, a small flame flickered and he laid a couple of small twigs next to it. As he fed it, the fire grew, inviting her to share its precious heat. Heavens, she was tired of being cold! He fashioned a tripod out of three forked branches and hung the coffee pot from it.

  Lucinda crept closer to the fire. She needed to store up all the heat she could get. It had taken a long time for her to get warm enough to sleep the night before, and the morning breeze was too brisk to go riding without a jacket, which she didn’t have. “I’m sorry I used your clothes.”

  Reese shrugged. “It’s probably the smartest thing you’ve done since you got to Idaho Territory.” He went over to his saddle, picked up a rope, and cut a hank off the end. “Here, loop this through the suspender holes and tie it to the button in the front, then wrap it all the way around you before you lose your britches.” He grinned. “Not that that would be a bad thing.”

  Why does he always have to taunt me, she wondered. Still, she accepted the rope with dubious gratitude, and did as he instructed.

  “You’ll have to wear your own shoes and bonnet.” He poured a tin cup full of coffee and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” The tin cup was as hot as the boiling coffee it held and seared her hands. “Ouch!” She jerked and sloshed it, scalding her fingers. She dropped the cup, coffee splashing and fire spitting, and stuck her stinging fingers in her mouth.

  “Are you always this clumsy, or do you save it all for me?” he said as he moved the bucket of cold spring water to her side. “Stick your hand in here for a minute or two, and it won’t blister.”

  His sarcastic words did not match the concerned look in his eyes. How could this man upset her sensibilities so, even with her fingers stinging in pain? Well, she wouldn’t allow his rakish ways get to her. “Butter is the proper treatment for burns.”

  Reese merely nodded. “Do as I say while I look for it. I imagine Sadie packed some with your picnic food.”

  She plunged her hand into the water. The coldness took the sting away immediately, and she was loath to remove her hand from the bucket when he returned with the butter and a towel. His searing gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, with more caring than she wanted to hear. He wrapped the picnic blanket around her shoulders. “Now, give me your hand.”

  His words were loaded. They could have meant, “Give me your heart and soul,” or “Let me care for you for the rest of your life.” Entranced by his caring, almost seductive, demeanor, she hesitated. How could a brothel owner be so kind? Or so enticing? Don’t be such a fool, you just slept with the man. Still reluctant, she placed her dripping, cold hand into his dry, warm palm.

  Her stomach twittered, probably for want of breakfast, she decided, except she didn’t have even the slightest of hunger pangs. He stroked her fingers with butter. The strange twittering grew stronger and spread downwards. She definitely had to use the privy. No privy.

  Her world centered around his gentle touch. The smoke from the crackling fire lost its smell, replaced by bay rum. The bird’s songs became an invitation to heaven. His gaze caught hers and held it.

  * * * * *

  Reese didn’t know if he could stand much more of this perplexing woman. Her eyes were filled with trust mixed with passion, and he wished she’d look somewhere else. She bore into his soul with that look of hers. He never knew from one moment to the next if she’d be a prude or a seductress, a scared rabbit or an Amazon warrior princess spouting suffragist tripe.

  He scooped out another dollop of butter. Gently as he could, he applied it to her sca
lded skin. Her hands were free of calluses, white and smooth like a real lady’s. Women like her were the reason he’d moved out here—to get away from them. They made themselves all too available, not knowing that his father had been a lying, cheating gambler who ran a string of whorehouses and had used every woman in them all.

  He was probably just like his old man. God only knew, he sure wanted to lay this woman out and drive his “snake” in her until she screamed his name. A man with any honor at all wouldn’t even be thinking what he’d thought about her. He wouldn’t end up like the old bastard, though, murdered while abusing a woman forced to earn her own miserable way.

  Damn, he wished Miss Sharpe would quit looking at him that way—trusting and wanting. He’d have bet she didn’t even know what she wanted. Nevertheless, Lucinda nor any other woman deserved the likes of him. He’d never do to a good woman what his no-account father had done to his mother—marry her, plant his seed, then abandon her. But he could see how a man could get trapped.

  She sucked in a breath and those beautiful green eyes of hers widened. Reese suppressed a groan, frustrated that he couldn’t control his reaction to her any better than a buck in rut.

  “A snake!” she yelled.

  Was she stupid or what? Granted, he’d swollen to the size of an oak tree, but they’d already been through this once.

  “It’s not a snake.”

  Thrrrrrrrrrr.

  A snake. A rattler.

  He froze. He glanced to the other side of the fire where his six-shooter lay useless. “Lucinda,” he said quietly, “don’t move a muscle and tell me exactly where the snake is.”

  “It . . . it’s a couple of yards to your right and a yard to your back.” After her initial stammer, her words tumbled out so fast he could hardly comprehend them.

  Thrrrrrrrrrr. Again, the snake made his threat. Reese’s heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Is he coiled?”