by Sara Orwig
Fortune placed Michael on the blankets. “He’ll sleep through most anything. I’ll tend to the horses and then lock up when I come back inside.”
She laughed and waved her hand. “I know you had a dreadful experience, but you don’t need to lock the door in this town. My brother hasn’t had anyone in the jail except for drinking too much. Well, I guess Henry LaPorte let his goat eat his neighbor’s garden twice. Tomorrow the whole town will be talking about the renegade. I imagine they’ll want to display the body for a time before they bury him.”
“They can do what they want,” Fortune said as he left.
“If you need anything, you can knock on my door. Our bedroom is the first one at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you so much for taking us in,” Claire said again.
“I’ll close the door, Mrs. O’Brien.” The name made Claire intensely aware of her deception and the impropriety of sharing a room with him, yet Michael hadn’t questioned it, and no one else would care.
Claire knelt to look at Michael’s injured foot, which was not discolored or swollen. She moved to the pitcher and bowl to wash and in minutes took off her shoes and stockings, knowing Fortune would return at any time. She stretched in bed and was asleep at once.
As Fortune entered the room, only one small lamp burned. As he pulled off his shirt he crossed the room to look down at Claire. She was stretched on the bed on her back, one arm flung above her head, her hair spread over the pillow. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and her skirts were up over her knees. Her bodice was unbuttoned more than he had ever seen before. The deep V revealed the full curve of her breasts, and he remembered that first night he had seen her bathing. His gaze roamed over her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, looking at her narrow waist. Her legs were long and shapely, pale in the soft glow of the lamp. One leg was bent at the knee, and as his gaze traveled back up, he mentally stripped away the blue calico.
His body responded, his manhood throbbing as desire rose in him. He reached out to smooth locks of hair away from her cheek. Her skin was hot and damp in the sweltering heat of the room. He let her hair slide slowly through his fingers, feeling its silkiness. He found a fan on a chest and came back to fan her a while as he looked down at her.
Finally he moved away and knelt to look at Michael and check his foot. The bite was healing, and Michael was as sound a sleeper as Claire. Fortune smoothed his wet hair, which he had washed downstairs beneath the pump, and sat on the side of the bed to pull off his boots. As he did, he studied Claire, remembering her raising the rifle to shoot Harwood, remembering Michael clinging to her after the insect bite.
They were at an impasse with Michael. She could have tried to run away and she hadn’t, and he believed the answer she had given him. She had seen that it was right for him to have Michael.
With a sigh he stood up, longing to strip down to get some relief from the heat. Putting out the lamp, he lay down in bed, looking at Clair. A trickle of desire warmed him again. With his hands behind his head he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally came.
In the morning when Claire stirred, the room was empty. Both Michael and Fortune had gone downstairs. She washed from the basin of water as best she could, longing for a tub. As she brushed her hair, she heard children’s laughter. She went to the open window. In the yard below, Michael was running with three other boys. Starting to lean out and call to him, she frowned, wondering about his foot, but he was running as carefree as the others. Horses grazed behind a shed and the morning was cool; her spirits lifted now that the danger of Harwood was gone.
After braiding her hair and pinning it around her head, she went downstairs. Mrs. Royer and Fortune were drinking coffee at the dining room table.
“Come in, Claire,” he said, rising to his feet and holding a chair for her.
“Good morning.” Mrs. Royer greeted her with a wide grin that showed a large gap between he front teeth. “Everyone in town is talking about you folks and the robber. Four neighbors have already dropped by to meet your husband and son.”
Smiling, Claire sat down, far more aware of her name being said by Fortune than she was of Ingrid Royer. It was the second time he had called her by her first name, and each time it had sounded special in his deep voice. And it was one of the few times that anyone besides Michael had known her real name.
“You sit right there and I’ll get your breakfast,” Ingrid said, leaving the room and returning with a cup of black coffee. Fortune passed a pitcher of cream to her, his hands brushing hers lightly. He looked fresh in his chambray shirt while she felt the blue calico was dreadful, torn, wrinkled, and mud-spattered.
“Here’s your breakfast,” Ingrid said, placing a plate of ham, hot biscuits, hominy, and eggs in front of her.
After eating, they told the Royers good-bye and mounted to ride out of town. She sensed an easiness to him that he hadn’t shown before and wondered whether his anger was cooling or if Harwood’s death had removed some of the strain.
Fortune pushed his hat to the back of his head and turned his horse, riding close to Claire. “Today we’ll still head south to New Orleans. As long as I’m this close, I want my family to meet Michael, and I want Michael to meet them.”
They rode quietly all morning, passing stands of tall pines. In late afternoon they entered Baton Rouge along Plank Road and wound into the heart of town, passing an imposing building that looked like a medieval castle.
“There’s the Louisiana state capitol, Michael,” Fortune said, and she glanced at the large structure. Her thoughts shifted from the sights around her to her appearance. As thankful as she was to reach a city, she felt too disheveled to go into a hotel. “They won’t let me in a hotel in this state,” she said, motioning to her wrinkled dress.
“Of course they will. I’ll tell them we’ve been traveling.”
“I’ve sewed up the front of the dress that Harwood tore, but it needs to be washed. We haven’t stopped long enough for me to wash anything and then let it dry.”
“We’ll try to remedy that,” he said, turning on the wide street. In minutes they stood in a hotel lobby, and she looked at the tall potted plants, the elegant leather-covered furniture and oil painting on the wall.
“Mama, this is another fancy place,” Michael said.
“Yes, it is. After so many nights traveling across country, this is going to be very nice.”
Fortune approached them, taking her arm. “I have a suite for us, and I’ve ordered a bath. Michael and I will go out for a while to buy a few things, and we’ll leave you alone. Then we’ll clean up. The hotel has someone who will wash and iron your dress.”
“Thank you,” she said, thinking it sounded wonderful after all the hard riding they had done. They climbed a wide, curving staircase with a thick blue carpet that was soft beneath her feet. On the third floor, they entered a suite, and once again she was awed by the elegance of it. She stood in the center of the sitting room, looking at dark walnut furniture, thick patterned rugs, gilded mirrors on the walls, and plants in the corners. French doors opened onto small balconies with black wrought iron chairs and tables. The hotel was elegant, yet it still seemed a terrible extravagance to her.
“Mama, isn’t this fine!” Michael said, touching a marble-topped table. “It’s fancier than that other hotel.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, wondering how Fortune could afford such luxury. The last time it had seemed an unnecessary expense, but this time she was thankful to be able to spend a night in such a place. And she knew when they parted, she would never be in rooms like this again.
She ran her hands over a wingback chair upholstered in rose damask. Glancing around, she found Fortune watching her, a curious look of speculation in his eyes, and she wondered what was going through his mind. More and more she caught him studying her intently, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“Michael, you and I will go out for a while to make some purchases,” Fortune said.
“Yes, sir. Look, I can see the rooftops and the treetops,” Michael said, leaning out a window.
Colonel O’Brien glanced at her. “When we return, you’ll have to let us have one room while we clean up. Give me the dress you want laundered, and I’ll leave it to get washed.”
“If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll change and give you this one to have washed. It’s the most acceptable to meet your family because the other dress is patched.” She went into the bedroom, pulling off the worn blue calico and wrapping herself in a blanket, leaving her shoulders and arms bare.
She stepped to the door. “Fortune,” she said, conscious of the familiarity of calling him by his given name.
He turned from the window and crossed the room to her, his gaze going over her shoulders, making her suddenly feel more bare than she was. He took the dress from her. “Michael, let’s go now.”
She watched him leave, his spurs jingling with his steps, his hand resting casually on Michael’s shoulder. Claire lounged in the tub until the water cooled, relishing it on her skin, and washed her hair thoroughly. Refreshed, she climbed out to dry, wishing she had something clean to wear. When she was dressed in the patched pink gingham, she walked out onto the narrow balcony. Brushing her hair until it was almost dry, she braided it and wound it around her head.
When she stepped inside, she glanced at the carved bed and her pulse quickened. She would sleep there tonight with Fortune O’Brien on the other side of the bed.
She wondered where he had taken Michael and what they were doing. As time passed, she went back to sit on the balcony and look at the courtyard below. It was filled with wrought-iron benches and beds of flowers and exotic tall green plants. If Colonel O’Brien had noticed the lavishness of these surroundings, he had not been as awed as she and Michael. He had seemed to pay little attention to any of it, accepting it as readily as he did the hard ground when he camped.
Shadows lengthened as dusk came.
“Mama!” Michael’s voice was excited, and she hurried into the front room of the suite to see the boy place an armful of assorted items on a chair. Fortune was carrying parcels under his arm as he closed the door.
“Mama, look what Colonel O’Brien bought!” Fortune held up a book. Knowing how much Michael loved the few books he owned, she crossed the room to take the book in her hands and look at the spine. Mississippi Jim by John St. Claire.
“How nice. Michael loves books.”
“Look at this,” Michael said, holding a wooden soldier. “And this,” he said, holding up a stick of candy. “And he bought a new pair of pants for me!”
“That’s wonderful, Michael!” she exclaimed, realizing how much more Fortune O’Brien could do for Michael than she ever could. She turned to look at him. Dusty from traveling, his shirt wrinkled and vest pockets bulging, he stood watching the child, a look of joy on his face that erased all his harshness. As Fortune tossed his hat on a desk, his gaze shifted to her. He held a bundle in his hands.
“This is the best I could do under the circumstances. They sell ribbons and material and shawls, so I brought this for you. With your sewing, I thought you could make a dress.”
She took the folded material from his hand. It was a deep rose silk, and she drew a swift breath, running her hand over the soft material. “It’s lovely!” she exclaimed. “It’ll make a beautiful dress! Thank you.” She looked up to meet an impassive gaze. A knock came, and when Fortune answered, two hotel employees were waiting with another tub and more water. He motioned them inside.
“Thank you,” she said, surprised he had brought her a gift. Hugging the silk to her middle, she envisioned a dress. It was her first gift in years except simple things made out of paper by Michael. Until now she had always turned down the gifts offered by men, but she knew there would be no obligations with Fortune. “It’s beautiful,” she repeated, feeling the silk. “I’ll go downstairs and leave you and Michael alone. I’ll be in the courtyard.”
“We’ll join you soon and eat dinner.”
She nodded, placing the silk on a chair and leaving the room. She went downstairs, sitting in the shade on one of the wrought-iron benches.
When they came striding up, her pulse jumped. Both of them had damp black curls. Other than his dark eyes, Michael looked like a miniature of Fortune O’Brien. Even though the black coat he wore was wrinkled from packing, Fortune looked handsome. He took her arm and they went to the hotel dining room, entering a spacious room with a high ceiling and cool interior, mirrors along one wall behind a mahogany bar and only a few patrons seated around the room. Tables were covered in white cloths and they sat at one beside a large window. She sat across from Fortune and Michael sat beside him.
When she opened the menu, she stared at the prices and was aghast. She leaned over the table toward Fortune. “This is too expensive,” she whispered. “We can find somewhere in town that won’t be this costly.”
“Claire, I’ll pay for our supper,” Fortune replied dryly. “It isn’t a problem. After eating catfish and rabbit, we can have a hotel dinner.” He turned to Michael. “What would you like, Michael? A steak sounds good to me.”
“My word! Michael doesn’t eat steaks, and look what it costs!” she exclaimed in a low voice, thankful no one sat at tables close to them to overhear her comments.
“I’ll wager that Michael can eat a steak, and if that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll have. How about a steak for each of us?”
“I couldn’t possibly eat something that cost that much!” She looked at the menu: the least expensive thing was a bowl of stew. “I’ll have the stew.”
“Not tonight. It the steak was free, would you eat one?”
“Yes, but it isn’t.”
The waiter appeared and Fortune ordered three steaks and two glasses of wine. She stared at him, wondering about how well fixed he was. Or was he doing this just because of the rugged traveling they had done?
When the juicy steak and a fluffy potato were placed before her, she stared at her plate, thinking it looked like the most delicious dinner she had ever seen. Picking up her fork and knife, she cut into it, chewing with her eyes closed, opening them to find Fortune watching her.
“Mmm, this is marvelous.”
Sipping his wine, Fortune studied her, almost forgetting to eat. She was chewing the steak as if she were in ecstasy. She was as easy to please in some ways as Michael, and Fortune realized she must have made sacrifice after sacrifice for him. He glanced at the child beside him and back at her, realizing what kind of life they had led through the years. If he yelled to duck, they both would react immediately. They were as accustomed to danger as the most seasoned soldier. But neither of them were accustomed to luxury. He was willing to wager that the rose silk was her first gift since running away from home. When he thought about Rafe and Cal and their generosity, the Christmases he’d had as a child and with Marilee, he had been blessed with presents.
“Aren’t you going to eat that steak you wanted so badly?” she asked, closing her eyes to chew without waiting for his answer.
“Mama, this is good!”
“It’s heavenly,” she said with a sigh. The tip of her pink tongue ran across her lips, and she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Her table manners were excellent, and he knew she had to have come from a good home. He took a bite of steak, discovered it was tender. Even while he ate, though, he watched her with fascination. He had never seen anyone relish a dinner the way she was.
They had a special treat of ice cream, and he was too intrigued watching both Michael and Claire eating their ice cream to eat his. “You’ve never eaten ice cream before?” he asked.
“No! This is wonderful!” she said, running her tongue over the spoon and licking it off. He watched her pink tongue flick out again and back, her full red lips closing. He shifted, remembering kisses that he tried to avoid thinking about.
Finally dinner was over and they walked through the cool, sweet-smelling courtyard before they went upstai
rs. The freshly laundered clothing had been returned by the hotel and placed on the settee. Claire carried her blue calico dress to the bedroom, thankful to know she would be able to wear something clean tomorrow.
When she returned to the sitting room, Fortune and Michael were stretched out side by side on the settee. Fortune read to him from Mississippi Jim, and she listened for a long time before finally getting up and going to sit in the dark on the balcony, where the air was cooler.
A lamp burned in the bedroom, imparting a faint glow onto the balcony. She glanced overhead at twinkling stars. Fortune came out on the balcony and sat down near her. He lit a cheroot, inhaling and blowing out smoke, the tobacco smell strong. He stretched out his legs and propped his feet on the balcony rail. He had shed his coat and cravat and now had his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. As they sat in the cool night in silence, she was more aware of him than ever. Nervously she thought about going to bed. She glanced at him to find him watching her with a disconcerting stare.
“Claire, I want to talk to you.”
Her heart dropped, and she wondered if he was going to ask her to leave them here in Baton Rouge. She waited in silence while he leaned forward, placing his feet on the floor, putting his elbows on his knees and lacing his hands together. A dark lock of hair curled over his forehead. Finally he looked up at her.
“Tomorrow we’ll ride into New Orleans,” he said in a deep, quiet voice. “I’ve told you that my brother and his family live there, and I want them to meet Michael. In the morning I want to tell Michael the truth.”
She drew a deep breath and stood up, brushing past him to go inside. A pain twisted deep inside her, and she couldn’t control her tears because now she would lose Michael. It had come far sooner than she had expected. She strode to the wash basin, reaching for a cloth to wipe her face, trying to get control of her emotions.
“Claire, Michael has to know sometime,” Fortune said close behind her, having followed her into the room. “Trevor Wenger will talk about Marilee. I know I can’t keep Wenger from ever seeing Michael. And I want Michael to know his uncles. I want him to know I’m his father,” Fortune stated flatly, and she heard the unyielding note in his voice.
