"Yes, well, you know what they say about the road to Hell. Now, if you don't mind, I want to go to bed." She pulled jerked her hands free. Pulling on her old coat, she picked up the lantern.
I hope he's gone when I get back. I really don't want to talk to him, don't even want to see him tonight.
She slipped out the door and headed for the outhouse.
* * * *
Merlin had the makeshift canvas curtain hung from the rafters when she returned.
"What's that for?" she said even before she pushed the door shut.
"Your bedroom. I figured you'd want privacy."
He could almost feel the silence while she took off her coat. At last she turned to face him. "Privacy? When I'll be all alone?"
"I'll make my bed over there." He pointed toward the wall farthest from the bed. "It's too cold to sleep in the barn tonight."
"You promised--"
"Last night I promised to sleep in the barn. I did. And I nigh froze to death. Tarnation, Cal, it's not like we haven't slept together before."
Her face went dead still.
"I mean--"
"I was a child."
"So was I. Or near enough to make no difference. So what?"
She plumped herself down on the edge of the bed. "I know this would happen. I told you it was wrong for me to come here."
Sudden realization dawned. He crossed the room and knelt in front of her. "Cal?"
Her head was turned and her gaze fastened on the fire.
Well, hell. He caught one hand and held it despite her efforts to pull away. "Do you trust me?"
The little catch of her breath sounded almost like a hiccup.
"Do you?"
A tiny nod. "Mostly," she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear.
"Are you afraid of me? Afraid I'll hurt you?"
Her head remained still.
"Ahh, I see. So how about I make you a promise? Will you believe me if I swear not to do anything to you you don't want? I promise I won't kiss you, won't try to talk you into..." He gulped, because he'd never had this kind of conversation with a lady before. "Into my bed. Will you believe that?"
"Would you?"
"Try to talk you into my bed? Maybe, if I thought it would do me any good. I'm no angel, Cal, just a man. You're a pretty woman, one I'm fond of. I'd not be a man if I didn't have a hunger for you." He felt her stiffen. "I won't come to your bed without an invitation. If you want me for a lover, you'll have to do the asking.
"Now, can we go to bed? Morning comes early around mules."
Chapter Eighteen
Every time she woke during that long, long night, Callie listened for the sound of his breathing. Once she heard him stir, and another time she heard him go to the door and open it. She felt the draft for a dozen heartbeats and imagined him standing there, checking the barn and the corrals for anything out of order. When he closed the door with a soft click of the latch, she relaxed and drifted off again.
She woke to the sound of someone stirring up the fire. How comfortable it was to just lie here, knowing the room would be warm when she got up. It was like she was ten years old again, before her mother had sickened. "Rise and shine, Callie," she would say. "The day's a wastin'."
"Cal?" A man's voice.
This is wrong.
"Time to wake up."
No, it was right. She was a woman grown now, and her mother was long dead. She started to flip the covers back, then realized how badly she needed to use the chamber pot. "Can you...go outside for a bit?"
"We do need wood." The door opened and closed.
She scampered out of bed and took care of her business. Even though the curtain was as good as a wall to hide behind, she hurried into her clothes, and was buttoning up her bodice when he came back in.
"Good morning," she said as she stepped from behind the curtain.
The armload of firewood fell with a clatter into the woodbox and he turned to face her. "I didn't buy you those britches so they could sit on the shelf." The hard note was back in his voice.
"And I told you I wouldn't wear them. It's not fitting."
"If you want to go anywhere, you will. I'll not have you riding in a skirt. It's not safe." He cast a meaningful glance at her ankles, or where they would be if she'd been wearing britches. "Or modest."
Recognizing a battle she wasn't apt to win, she went to the counter and peered into the milk bucket he'd brought in last night. "Have you ever had fresh cream on biscuits?"
"No, but I'll eat pretty much anything that doesn't bite me first."
She bit her lip to hold back the giggle as a picture of him chewing on the threshing tail of a wildcat came to mind. "I'll start some sponge tonight, but biscuits will do for today." She set the skillet on its stand in the fireplace and put half a dozen split biscuits into it. Toasted, they'd taste good with cream.
The way he ignored the fact that they'd slept in the same room helped her get over being skittish. He treated her like she imagined he'd treat a sister, just the way he had when she first knew him. Maybe what he said about her inviting him to her bed had been just so he could deny it convincingly. He'd sure never looked at her with that fearsome hunger in his expression, the way some men did.
The knock came at the door as she was wiping down the skillet. Merlin was still at the table, reading as he sipped the last of his tea. "I'll get it," he said before she could take a step.
With his hand on the latch, he said, "Who is it?"
"Mick."
Merlin opened the door. "You're too late for breakfast, but there's water hot for tea."
"No coffee?"
"I could make some," Callie said, and wondered if she should have asked Merlin if he wanted coffee instead of tea. Was he mad she hadn't?
"He'll drink what I do or go thirsty. What kind of Irishman are you anyhow, to drink coffee instead of tea?"
The Pinkerton man accepted the cup she handed him and sat on the tree-legged stool instead of taking the chair she offered. "Some excitement in town last night."
"Oh?"
"Lambert House burned down. It was a near thing, keeping the barber shop from going too." He sipped his tea. "Pretty certain it was set."
"Anybody hurt?"
Speechlessly, Callie stared at the two men. How could they be so calm? Lambert House was a hotel, with sixteen rooms. Some of those rooms must have been occupied.
"Strangest thing. The alarm was rung almost as soon as the fire started. And someone ran through the halls, pounding on doors and yelling 'Fire!' Everybody got out, although a couple of fellas on the third floor got singed. The kitchen and the storeroom you slept in, Miss Smith, were completely destroyed. The fire probably started there.
"I don't like coincidences."
Merlin tipped his chair back and stared at the rafters. After a minute or two, he said, "You think this is connected to the bank robbery?"
"I do indeed. Did you open the crate?"
"It was personal stuff, mostly useless, although there were some interesting letters. Nothing to be of any help to you though."
"I told you." She glared at the Pinkerton man.
"Yes, you did, Miss Smith. I apologize for suspecting you. I'm convinced now you're an innocent dupe in all this."
Her mouth dropped open. "You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I think you're too innocent to deal with a slick character like your father." He scratched his chin, surely unshaven this morning. "Well, maybe a little stupid, to believe he's a fine, upstanding citizen."
"Mick, you ever hear the saying about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar?" Merlin's voice was soft, but Callie heard something sharp under its mildness.
The Pinkerton man's face went so pink it clashed with his bright red hair. "I have, and I apologize, Miss Smith. A good child believes the best of its father, no matter what. Will you forgive my hasty words?"
"Yes." She bit out the word, knowing if she said any more, she would have yelled. As if she would beli
eve anything, spoken in such a sarcastic tone.
She looked quickly at Merlin, who was the man's friend and who probably had expected her to politely accept his apology.
He winked.
He never does what I expect. Pa would have been furious.
* * * *
"Can we go to town today? I'd like to pick up some raisins and dried apples." While there was plenty of flour in the bin, and enough potatoes to feed an army, she had nothing to bake into a pie. "And eggs. We need more eggs."
"There's no buggy. You'll have to ride astride."
"I know that. I'm ready."
"No, you're not. Put on your britches."
Callie crossed her arms under her breasts. "I told you. I'm not going to go out in public in britches."
He picked up the book he'd been reading earlier. "Fine with me. I want to finish this chapter. Then I've got some work to do, should've been done yesterday."
"I'll walk. It's not so far."
"No, you won't. You're not going anywhere without me." He didn't look up from the page. "Or Mick, but since he's not here, I guess you're not going anywhere."
"Oh, you--"
He chuckled. "That's what my sisters always say when they lose an argument."
Callie went behind the curtain. She thought about kicking the end of the bed, but it would have hurt her toes more than the wood. Instead she sat on the edge and cupped her chin in both hands. The curtain kept her from seeing Merlin, who was sitting at the end of the table opposite the door. She glared in his direction anyway.
Will it hurt me to wear britches? Pa would have a fit, but he's not here.
Merlin's right. Hiking my skirt up to ride astride isn't modest, and it's cold.
I don't even know if they fit. If they don't maybe he'll let me wear my dress.
She got up off the bed and tiptoed to the shelves where her clothes--and his--were stored. The two pairs of britches were under the nice wool shirts he'd bought. The red plaid was sure pretty. She touched it lightly. I've never had anything red. Ma said it was apt to fade in the wash, and pa didn't hold with women wearing colors. I hate brown.
Her everyday dresses had always been brown, but her best dress was gray. Not much better than brown. Just different.
She picked up the shirt. Under it was the green one, but it wasn't all green. There were both-way stripes of black and yellow. She liked it almost as much as the red one, but she'd wear it another day.
She looked at the next shelf up, where Merlin's clothes were piled. He had three--no, four--wool shirts, all plaid but each a different color. Three pairs of black britches, the same black twill he always wore. Two Union suits, both nearly new.
He must be rich.
With a loud sigh--I hope he heard that--she pulled the top pair of britches from under the green shirt. Thinking she might as well wear clean clothes from the skin out, she added one of the Union suits he'd said were for her. Once she'd laid them on the bed, she raised her hands to unbutton her bodice. And stopped, when she saw the grease stain circling her breast like a target.
"Merlin?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Is there a bathtub anywhere around?"
"There's one in the barn. Why?"
"I was thinking. Maybe we could wait to go to town tomorrow. I need a bath something awful. I'll haul the water and bring in the extra wood. All I need you to do is bring me the tub."
"I can do that. Just one more page, and I'll fetch the tub." His voice sounded hoarse, as if he'd a frog in his throat.
* * * *
The temptation was strong. She'd never know if he snuck up to the window and peeked in.
Just a peek. No harm in that.
How many nights had he lay awake, thinking about what she hid under those godawful dresses? Every one since he'd found her in Cheyenne, that was for sure.
Merlin couldn't decide what it was he felt for Cal, besides pure, hungry lust. There was something though. Something more than he'd felt for Felice, a whole lot more than he'd felt for the few women he'd had for an hour or a night in other towns, before he came to understand that paid-for release was not much better than none at all.
Just a peek.
He picked up the pitchfork and went to work. Nothing better for curing randiness than a good sweat.
As he worked, he let his thoughts wander. Murphy expected the wagons back from Fort Laramie day after tomorrow, so he'd be busy for a couple of days. The teams for the short train--only five wagons instead of the eighteen in the long train--were ready to go. He'd been feeding them up, because a fat mule weathered the cold better than a skinny one. The schedule called for a food and feed shipment to Chugwater later in the week, but he hadn't seen any goods come in yet. He reckoned Murphy would let him know when it was time.
So far he hadn't had to do any smithing beyond his skill. He had talked to Jed Watkins, Cheyenne's best smith, by all reports. Jed would handle anything he couldn't.
More weather was coming. He could smell it. The wind had a hint of dampness in it, and was warmer. Snow, then, likely heavy. Better lay in grub. We could get stuck out here.
The thought of being snowbound with Callie gave him pause. After a moment he straightened, set the pitchfork aside and rearranged himself inside his pants. Tarnation! Keep your mind on your work.
Lemuel Smith was somewhere nearby. He knew it sure as he knew his own name. The man had likely been behind the fire at the hotel. Would he burn his own child? Or did he know she wasn't there?
Does he care?
If he was smart, he'd get Callie out of here. Take her home. She'd be safe there. Ma would be tickled pink...
Well, Hell! If he took Callie home to Ma, he'd be married in a week. The thought took his breath away.
Married? I'm not ready to be married. Not yet. Too many places I haven't been, too many sights I haven't seen.
Might be nice to have company while I see them, though. Sometimes he'd wished he had a companion to share his excitement, his wonder with.
Not a wife, though. Not yet.
* * * *
Merlin was in the loft, forking more hay down when he heard the inset door rattle. It was cut into one of the main barn doors, and it always stuck, so a body had to jerk and tug to open it.
"Merlin, you in here?"
"Up here, Murph. I'll be done in a bit."
"I just got word. The train from the fort's coming in tomorrow. Jeb didn't like the look of the weather, so he left a day early and he's pushin'. Sent one of the guards ahead to let me know."
Half a dozen more pitches and the manger below was full to overflowing. Merlin made sure all was clear before he dropped the pitchfork. "I took a sniff just after dinner. Snow's coming." He stepped lightly on the first six rungs, dropped the rest of the way. "Maybe not tonight, but soon. You reckon to postpone the shipment to Chugwater?"
"Depends on how much snow we get." He worked his mouth and looked over Merlin's shoulder instead of at his face. "You've got a woman staying with you." His dark skin reddened over his high cheekbones.
Not laughing took effort. "Cal. She's no place else to go." He took the wide broom to the floor, sweeping scattered hay over to the big manger. "Haven't you been to town lately?"
"No, I went out to Camp Carlin Tuesday, ended up in an all night poker game. I won, and I celebrated. Too much. Never did have a head for liquor." His grimace spoke volumes. "Nothing going on until Jeb gets back, so I borrowed a cot, slept out there the last two nights."
"You missed all the excitement." Merlin gestured him to the bench against the wall between two stalls. "Somebody tried to rob her Tuesday..."
By the time he'd caught Murphy up, the cow was lowing to be milked. He took care of that and left Murphy to see to the mules. With the long train coming in and snow in the offing, they'd have to use both corrals. At least with snow it wasn't likely to get as cold as it had been last week, but a heavy fall would be hard on the mules. Good thing Jeb had been able to get an early start. He doubted the fort h
ad facilities to take care of all the extra stock in a blizzard.
"Come to supper?" he said, when the mules had been fed and the cow milked.
"I'm obliged. Sure she won't mind?"
"I can't imagine why. Let's go." With one last look around, to make sure all was in order, he led Murphy toward the narrow door facing the cabin. Halfway there he paused. "Maybe you'd better let me go ahead. See if she's ready for company."
Just in case Cal was still in the bathtub.
Not likely, but a man could hope. He couldn't hold back a small smile.
She wasn't. The tub was leaning against the side of the cabin, and he couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed. He tapped once, then pushed the door open. "Cal? Did you cook enough to feed Murphy too?"
She stepped out from behind the curtain, wearing the godawful brown dress she'd found at Herman's.
She knew we weren't going anywhere, so I can't fuss about the britches. But that dress has got to be the ugliest thing I've ever seen.
He made a mental note to ask if the dressmaker, whose shop he'd seen on Hill Street, had anything ready-to-wear that would fit Cal. Something green, to match her eyes, maybe.
"There's plenty, but it's not fancy. I didn't--"
Before she could apologize, he said, "Murphy wouldn't know fancy if it bit him on the ar--on the ankle. As long as there's plenty, and the coffee's strong, he'll be happy."
"Coffee? I didn't--"
"Cal, stop fretting. Murphy's like family. He can wait for his coffee." He turned away from the stricken expression on her face, wishing there was some way he could have the old, feisty Cal back all the time, not just when he'd riled her.
If he ever got his hands on Lemuel Smith, he'd... Well, he wasn't sure what he'd do, but the man deserved great pain and eternal suffering for what he'd done to Cal.
Chapter Nineteen
In some ways it was a relief to have Murphy Creek there. Ever since he'd come in, Merlin had been watching her every move, never letting her out of his sight. Like he was hungry.
Like he was a hunter and she was a juicy grouse just about to walk into his snare.
Squire's Quest Page 17
