by Tess LeSue
14
HE COULDN’T GET rid of her. She was stubborn as all hell. For some reason, Matt hadn’t expected that. She might look like a china doll, but she was ornerier than his old donkey. No matter how many times he tried to shake her off, she just looked at him with those prairie flax eyes and kept on following along.
She’d left her children with Mrs. Tilly long before Matt emerged from his room the next morning, and she was lying in wait for him. She’d pulled her chair into the hall and was calmly sitting there outside his door, reading a book. She was in another black dress, this one shiny, with a bunch of ruffles at the hem. Her mourning dresses were fancier than any party dresses he’d ever seen. Today she had a silly little bonnet perched on the back of her head and a filmy black veil that fell all the way to the hem of her dress. She looked like she was sitting inside a cloud. Instead of muting her, all that black made her skin glow and her eyes seem even bluer.
He scowled.
“Mrs. Tilly is up baking before dawn,” Georgiana told him cheerfully, “so I took the children there first thing. They love to help her bake. I thought we’d get more done without them.” She snapped her book closed. It was one of those stupid dime novels, he saw. There was a black-and-white drawing of a fearsome Indian on the front.
“When I was out and about yesterday, I saw the cookhouse does breakfast, if you’d rather go there?” She kept chattering as she put the chair and the book back in her room and locked the door.
He’d rather not go anywhere with her.
He was sullen as they went downstairs, but it didn’t seem to discourage her. She chattered away, happy as a lark. He didn’t know what she had to be so happy about. They were in a hell of a bind. How were they supposed to get through the next few months when they couldn’t get through half an hour in each other’s company without . . . NO. Don’t think about it. He’d lost another night’s sleep to sweaty, fretful dreams of touching her, kissing her, unbuttoning her, cupping her . . .
Stop.
Hell. Being with her was torture. The smell of her. She didn’t smell like anyone he’d ever met. She had this light, zingy fragrance to her. Expensive soap, he thought sourly. Or some kind of perfume. Whatever it was, it drove him nuts. Just a waft of it made his body tingle. The smell was all tangled up in the sensation of kissing her, the feel of her tongue . . .
STOP.
He was sweating with the effort of not thinking about it. He barely heard a word she said as she sailed out into the early blush of morning. The town was just jingling to life beneath the peachy sky.
“I’ll catch up to you,” he said gruffly. “I have to take care of the animals first.”
“Oh, I’ll come with you.”
He wished she wouldn’t. But she followed along cheerfully enough as he skirted the hackberry bushes around the side of the hotel. Matt saw the doc’s wife, Mrs. Barry, pause in the yard next door to watch them. He sighed.
“I brought the list you made us,” she said, as they reached the stable. She fished in some secret pocket in all that shiny skirt and brought out his list. “What was your fee for assisting with the purchases?”
He scowled at her. He wasn’t about to charge her. “How’d that look?” he said. “Charging my fiancée for helping her?”
She blinked. “No one has to know. It doesn’t seem polite not to pay you. We can keep it entirely between us.”
Us. He didn’t like that word. It gave him queer feelings.
Dog was whining for attention. Matt let him out of the stall, and he immediately jumped up and licked at Matt’s face. He was a social dog and wasn’t enjoying being exiled from Deathrider.
“Oh my!” He heard a rustle of skirts as Georgiana scurried backward, away from the dog.
“He ain’t dangerous,” Matt said.
She looked dubious. Matt took Dog by the scruff and walked him over to Georgiana. “Here, Dog, this is our friend.” He gestured for her to hold out her hand. “Let him sniff you.”
Nervously, she did as he asked. Dog gave her a good sniff.
“He looks like a wolf,” she said anxiously, as Dog’s wet nose prodded her palm.
“Nah. He’s an Indian dog. They’re good working animals.” He slapped Dog on the haunches. The dog shivered with delight and barked, rubbing his head against Matt’s leg. “We’ll bring him along with us today. It ain’t right for him to be alone all the time like this.”
She brightened at his words, and he flinched. Hell. He’d just said the “us” word. And said he’d be spending the day with her. What kind of idiot was he?
The thing was, he thought as he fed his animals, some idiot part of him wanted to spend the day with her. Was even looking forward to it.
It was the same idiot part of him that had taken care to shave this morning, rather than let his beard grow out as he’d planned. Deathrider, still pale but clearly on the mend, had no end of fun poking at Matt as he stood at the shaving mirror.
“Pass on my regards to the missus.”
Matt had flicked a handful of soapy water at him, but it hadn’t discouraged him. The sight of Matt prettying himself up was just too tempting a target.
Matt didn’t know what was wrong with him. It was just a kiss or two.
An unbelievable kiss or two. And a couple of nights of the dirtiest dreams he’d ever had.
He stole a glance at Georgiana. She’d come all the way into the shadowy stable and was scratching Fernando’s ears. The crotchety old donkey was all but rolling his eyes with pleasure. Matt felt a stab of envy.
“It’s an enormous job, running a wagon train, isn’t it?” she said. “How long have you been doing it?”
“Long enough.” He felt stupidly bashful. Talking to women wasn’t his strong suit at the best of times, but right now it felt nigh on impossible. How was he supposed to think, let alone talk, when all he wanted to do was lift her off her feet and carry her up to the hayloft? He wanted to throw her in the straw and spend the morning kissing her. She got a look on her face when she was being kissed that made him wilder than a bull. Her blue eyes got all hazy and soft, and her mouth was like an overripe raspberry, all plumped up and juicy. And then there was the feel of her body against his. He imagined how it would feel, if he could lay against her up there in the hay. Last night she’d run her hand up him; today he wanted to run his hands down her.
Oh, this was going to be rough.
“I need to check my wagons,” she was saying sheepishly. “After listening to you yesterday, I’m not sure they’ll meet your specifications.”
Wagons. Yes, think about wagons. Forget the damn hayloft.
“I heard you went to Noonan,” he said, not looking at her. He finished with the animals and clicked at Dog to follow. The dog was beside himself with joy to come along and ran in wide circles as they left the yard, sniffing everything he could see.
“When I got here, I was told that wagons can take up to six weeks to build, so I thought I should order some immediately.” She was a black blur at the corner of his vision. Her veil was so light it trailed behind her in the air. “His prices seemed reasonable.” She shrugged. “I must say, I had no idea what I was looking for.”
“Noonan ain’t the most reliable of wainwrights,” he told her. He relaxed slightly as they fell into talking about wagons. It was easier when he didn’t look at her.
Independence was turning on a bright and crisp spring day, and the morning air was full of the smell of apple blossoms and fresh-cooked bacon and biscuits. They continued their talk of wagons over breakfast. The coffee and vittles were much better at the cookhouse than at the hotel, and he had three helpings. She lifted her veil to eat, which made him nervous again, but the busyness of the cookhouse helped. A few people came up to him to ask questions about joining his party. He was comfortable with the topic of traveling and after a while managed to banish any thoughts of kis
sing her.
All in all, it was a surprisingly enjoyable morning. They sorted out her wagons, went to Cavil’s and started checking things off the list, and by lunchtime, they were purchasing her a milk cow and a couple of goats. Once the animals were stabled back at the hotel (for a ridiculous fee), Matt locked Dog back up with Pablo and tried to excuse himself. But wouldn’t you know it, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She tagged right along with him as he headed for the town square to get on with his business. Word had spread about their engagement, and wherever they went, people stared. Many offered their congratulations. There were a lot of smirks. There were also a lot of irritated rejected suitors; a couple of them gave Matt such black looks he had half a mind to go back to the hotel for his rifle. Just in case.
Josiah Sampson was grinning like a fool when he saw them coming across the square. They were pretty hard to miss, as Georgiana’s skirts were as big as a church bell. She parted the crowds like Moses parting the Red Sea. Matt braced himself for the teasing; he’d deliberately avoided introducing her to Joe yesterday. He took enough grief from Deathrider without adding more from Joe. At least Matt’s brothers weren’t here—Tom and Luke would be merciless; Matt hoped they’d never find out about this whole situation.
Of course, now that she was here with Matt in the square, Joe made sure to introduce himself to the future Mrs. Slater. He gave Matt a cheeky wink as he complimented him on his taste. Matt scowled and went to help Seb, who’d been working the square alone all morning. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Georgiana fell into an animated discussion with Joe about the California Trail. Matt surprised himself by feeling an unexpected stab of jealousy.
He looked at Joe with fresh eyes. He was strapping, smart, good-looking, charming, unmarried . . . and headed for California. By the way he was staring into those big blue eyes, he might not be averse to the idea of marriage either.
Matt felt like punching him.
Which was downright stupid, as he wanted her to find someone to marry. Someone who wasn’t him. And Joe was a nice guy.
So why was he downright happy when that idiot Wendell Todd came barging into the square, inserting himself right in the middle of Georgiana and Joe’s conversation? He only got happier when the idiot pulled out a map and dragged Georgiana away from Joe Sampson and over to the low limb of the sycamore. Wendell spread the map along the limb and started talking a mile a minute, jabbing at some route on the pages before him. Matt should have felt sorry for her, should maybe even have gone over there to rescue her, but he didn’t. He felt relieved. While she was tangled up talking to that goose, she wasn’t bewitching Joe, and Matt was free to catch up on business.
* * *
• • •
“WHERE ARE WE going now?”
We. First it was “us” and now it was “we”!
“I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m going to Mrs. Tilly’s for my afternoon meetings.” Matt plowed on, leaving her to trot along behind, trailing her filmy black cloud.
“Oh good, we can order some sandwiches. No wonder you have such a healthy appetite, with all of this running around and not eating luncheon until three!”
Matt picked up the pace. He didn’t usually leave eating until three. He’d just been hoping to shake her before leaving the town square; he’d expected she’d get bored standing around under the sycamore and leave. But she hadn’t. She’d outwitted Wendell quicker than Matt could follow. One minute they’d been bent over the map together, and the next Wendell was gone and Georgiana was standing at Matt’s elbow.
“I sent him off with the list,” she explained, when she saw his quizzical expression. “He did so want to help, and there’s so much we need.”
“You trust him with your money?” Matt thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.
“Of course not. He said he’d run an account in his name and I could settle it later. That way I can check everything matches up and all items are accounted for.”
Matt grunted. She was smart.
She was also distracting as all hell. It had been near impossible for him to concentrate as she stood next to him, listening to everything he said, watching everything he did. The smell of her drove him crazy.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” he’d snapped eventually.
“Not really.” She had the nerve to smile at him.
“Maybe you could find something,” he said shortly. “I have business to attend to.”
“I won’t get in your way,” she insisted, those blue eyes guileless. “I’m learning a lot listening to you.”
He didn’t know how. He felt like he was rambling like a witless idiot. Their easy companionship of the morning had evaporated. Probably because they weren’t engaged in a task together—she was just looking at him.
She was still looking at him now as she trotted along behind. He could feel it.
“Wendell says he and Kipp will drive my wagons,” she said breathlessly, as she struggled to keep up. “Will I need to hire any help apart from them?”
“Help with what?”
“Well, listening to you talking to people today, there’s an awful lot: driving every day, milking the cow, digging the wagons out when they’re stuck, fording rivers, fixing the wheels when they break . . . ever so much.”
“You and the kids can do a lot of that.” He stole a glance to see what her reaction was to that. Grim, by the look of it.
“Oh. Of course.” There was a brief pause. “But I don’t know how to milk a cow or fix a wheel . . .”
“You can learn.” He sighed as he climbed the stairs of Mrs. Tilly’s front porch. “Listen, lady, if you have money to splash around, you can hire a girl to help you with the kids and the animals and the cooking, and you can hire another man to help with the rest. Or”—he threw her a pointed look—“you can save your pennies, roll up your sleeves and work like the rest of us.”
He saw her chin go up at that. There was that stubbornness again. Good. It would serve her well out there on the plains.
“Matthew!” Mrs. Tilly all but flew across the room when she caught sight of him. She was in a flap about something. Or, rather, someone.
Seline.
“Please,” Mrs. Tilly said desperately, “get her out of here. She’s offending my guests!”
The whore was in her Sunday best again, only this time she’d added some enormous ostrich feathers to her bonnet. They curled around her face and flapped in the air at least two feet over her head. Everyone in the tearoom was staring at her.
“Why, Matt Slater,” she said sweetly, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Matt heard Georgiana’s horrified intake of breath. Her gaze was riveted on the whore’s plunging neckline. Seline heard her too, and her painted lips broke into a grin.
“Well, hello again, honey.” The feathers danced as she inclined her head. “I hear congratulations are in order.” Her gaze swept over Matt, lingering here and there in a way that made him mighty uncomfortable. “You sure made a fine choice.”
If looks could kill, Matt thought Georgiana’s stare would have been the end of Seline.
“Please get her out of here,” Mrs. Tilly begged.
Seline lifted her nose in the air, as imperious as a princess. “I got legitimate business with him, missus, and this is where he keeps his office, so this is where we’re doing business. My money’s as good as anyone’s.” She gave them an insouciant wink and drawled, “Although I bet you never heard of a whore paying for it before.”
The ladies gasped, and Seline gave a throaty laugh. “Don’t worry, honey,” she told Georgiana. “I’ll just warm him up for you. I promise not to wear him out.”
Georgiana had turned a fierce shade of red. Matt took pity on her.
“She just wants to join our train,” he told Georgiana. “That’s all. There’s nothing else goi
ng on.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to reassure her. She wasn’t his real fiancée. He had every right to see a whore if he wanted. Although maybe not this publicly. The room was full of people gawking, and he guessed the town would be humming with gossip in no time. Matt Slater snagged the rich widow Smith and then rubbed her nose in his relations with a whore. Well, damn the gossips. None of this was his fault.
“At least see her in the back room,” Mrs. Tilly pleaded.
“C’mon, Seline.” Matt started for the room he used for his office.
“Not without a chaperone,” Mrs. Tilly squeaked.
“I’ll go.” Georgiana inserted herself neatly between Matt and the whore.
Matt groaned. “You can’t keep following me.”
“I believe, as your fiancée, it’s in my best interests to do so in this instance,” she said with icy formality.
“I don’t mind,” Seline told him.
“I mind.”
But they didn’t listen to him; both of them swept into the small back parlor, their enormous skirts just about filling the room. It was like he hadn’t even spoken.
“What do you want, Seline?” he snapped when he squeezed in between their skirts.
“Aren’t you going to offer me tea?” She sat down with a rustle of her bright pink skirt.
“No.”
“Fine.” She pursed her painted lips. “I have an offer for you.”
Georgiana frowned and Seline laughed.
“Don’t worry, honey, it ain’t that kind of offer.”
“Get to the point, Seline,” Matt ordered.
“The point,” Seline said, dropping the coyness, “is that I want to join your wagon train.”
“Joe’s train,” Matt corrected.
“Which you can get me on,” she countered. “And you, for some reason, are being contrary.”
Matt wasn’t about to have this conversation under Georgiana’s disapproving blue gaze. “You were right,” he told her abruptly. “We’re long overdue for luncheon. Would you mind ordering us tea and sandwiches from Mrs. Tilly? Have her put it on my account.”
