She closed her ears to the conversation at the table and carefully placed her napkin in her lap, her fingers brushing against Gabe’s thigh. A lick of electricity tickled the tender flesh between her thighs. She cursed herself for not making good her escape when she had the chance. She should’ve left the moment Gabe released her from his embrace. Now she sat doomed and damned. This would not work. She had lost the battle before it had begun, but to retreat now would prove nothing.
And she did have something to prove. Not just to Gabe, but to her mother and father, and most of all, to herself. She was not a child. She was a woman, a woman who could make up her own mind, a woman who could comport herself and manage her own life in her own way. No, she could not run, not this time.
»»•««
Had everyone around here gone loco? Buck was all but drooling over Mrs. Millican, and now Curly-Birdie was engaged. Engaged to Cornell, not possible.
Gabe heard Edditha and her mother talking about something, something about keeping secrets, and the others laughing with them. He should be paying closer attention. But Gabe couldn’t hear over the voice in his head proclaiming Birdie, his Curly-Birdie, had engaged herself to the arrogant, rich, ridiculously handsome Cornell Norquist.
It couldn’t be. It wasn’t right. Not right at all, not his Birdie-Alice, sweet, funny, neck-or-nothing Curly-Birdie. Birdie-Alice wasn’t old enough to be anyone’s wife, certainly not Corney Norquist’s wife.
Corney didn’t want a wife. He wanted a prop, someone to show off to his father’s wealthy business associates. The so-called wife would have to be someone worldly who could host his parties, lead the Ladies Aid Society, and influence prospective clients. Birdie-Alice, the Birdie-Alice Gabe knew and loved, would make a hash of things in short order.
Both Jo and Birdie sounded strong opinions about a woman’s right to vote. Given the opportunity, Birdie would march up and down the street shouting and brandishing a banner demanding her rights. For certain, sooner or later she’d insult some old biddy with the blunt truth about her hat or take bets on who had the biggest bustle. In short, she’d make life miserable for a fat-head like Cornell Norquist.
Why would Cornell want Birdie-Alice?
Gabe would ask her, would tell her to look him in the eye and tell him what the hell she thought she was doing harnessing herself to someone like Cornell.
Beside him, he’d felt her stiffen when her father made the announcement. She sat there with her back up like a cat, eyes narrowed, ready to go for the jugular. Her hip was so close to his, he could feel the heat of her body even though they weren’t touching. Then her hand brushed his thigh, and his body responded with an instantaneous erection. The hell of it was, he wanted to put his hand on her leg. Hell, he wanted his hands between her legs.
Gabe sat there silent and detached from the laughter and conversation swirling around him. He had to get Birdie alone and hear what she had to say for herself. Did she love Cornell, the stiff-rumped ass?
He’d noticed Cornell hadn’t batted an eye. He’d nodded and smiled like a satisfied cat. The man hadn’t even held the chair out for Birdie, hadn’t acknowledged her at all. Hell, Cornell apparently could care less where she sat. Gabe didn’t think Cornell Norquist capable of loving anyone but himself.
Chapter Nine
Although she told herself she didn’t care to enter into the conversation, Birdie perked up when she heard her name mentioned.
“Birdie-Alice made the stuffing,” her mother announced as the dish started around the table. “And the gravy,” she added with pride.
Mrs. Millican and Edditha, unaware of the rarity of the occasion, helped themselves to a good portion of the stuffing and ladled the golden chicken gravy liberally over their food.
Time stood still for a few brief seconds. In the lingering summer’s evening light, the only sounds were the frogs in the hot spring and the crickets beneath the porch.
Like the frogs, Cornell couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Take my advice, Miss Millican, stick to the chicken and the squash. You can fill up on Jo’s rhubarb pie.”
Van and her father began to snicker. Looking adorably perplexed, Edditha said, “I don’t understand. I love stuffing. And this gravy looks and smells wonderful. I think you’ll be sorry, Mr. Norquist, if you don’t have some.”
The sly smile Cornell sent Miss Millican would have set any young woman’s heart aflutter. Birdie-Alice long ago had seen past his lopsided, killer smirk, finding nothing but a dried husk where Corney’s heart should be. When it came to the ladies, he could be as cunning as a wolf. Birdie, no fool, suspected a wedding ring and marriage vows would not stop him from hunting and capturing hearts.
Miss Millican responded true to form with a pretty blush when he corrected her. “Cornell, please, Miss Millican. I want to hear my name on your lovely lips,” he said, leering at the young woman as he leaned over his plate.
Birdie caught the disapproving scowl on her father’s face. Cornell must’ve seen it too. She put her head down and pressed her lips together to suppress a smile of satisfaction.
Cornell tried to make light of the situation by saying, “Because I’m starving, and I don’t wish to be rude, I’ll take your advice. But I must warn you, Birdie-Alice is no cook. It’s hard to say what she found to put in this stuffing.” He plopped a helping of the dish on his plate. He poked at the stuffing with his fork and even sniffed it. “The gravy doesn’t look bad. Hmmm, no lumps, Birdie? Now how did you manage?”
She wanted to squish his face in his plate. Instead, she thanked Edditha for her compliment and helped herself to some of the stuffing, which she covered liberally with her gravy.
She passed Gabe the bowl of stuffing and qualified to Edditha, saying, “I admit, I’m unused to cooking, but I can do it. Gabriel’s mother, Petra tried to teach me. It pains me to admit it, but my family and friends are justified to doubt my ability to produce an edible dish. They’ve suffered some of my attempts and left the table hungry. Homely pursuits don’t interest me. I’d much rather be out of doors, gardening or working with the horses.”
Next to her, Gabe helped himself to the offerings, pleasing Birdie when he gave her a nod and a smile before passing the dishes on.
Speaking to Edditha and Mrs. Millican, he said, “We’re all aware, and appreciate that our Curly-Birdie is more at home on a horse than in the kitchen. She has a way with all animals. And she has a green thumb when it comes to gardening.”
Birdie winced hearing him use the nickname stuck to her from the time she could toddle along after him. This evening, recalling her mission, she offered him a condescending smile. In the past, she might’ve punched him in the arm. “It’s true, I do feel at ease with animals. After all, you can’t scorch hay or burn oats. Do you ride, Edditha?”
Gabe had a fork full of chicken loaded and headed for his mouth. He stopped to give her a sideways look of distrust.
Encouraged, Birdie offered him a nod and a sweet smile but continued speaking to Miss Millican. “Buck keeps several good mounts here at the hot spring for the guests.”
Miss Millican hesitated. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin and then with a shake of her head she said, “Oh, I know how to ride. At ten years of age, I had my first equestrian, but I rode seated on a lady’s saddle. I’ve never ridden out in the open, but always within an arena. I shouldn’t know what to do on uneven terrain.”
Birdie purposefully ignored Gabe’s warning glance and persevered, heaping on the butter and spooning several helpings of sugar over her squash. “Buck has the sweetest old mare. I learned to ride on her, as did Jo. She moves like a rocking horse. As hard as I tried, I could never get her into a gallop. You could start out on her. We call her Ike II. She knows this country. You wouldn’t have to do anything but stay in the saddle and enjoy the ride. She’ll do all the work. Once you get used to the different saddle and acquire a little confidence, you could choose another mount.”
“Mrs. Millican, do you ride?” Buck asked.
“You must call me, Adella, Buck, please?” the lady said to him, her hand going to his wrist and a sly smile playing on her lips.
He smiled at her and winked. Birdie and everyone at the table saw him—he winked.
The lady blushed.
Birdie noticed Jo’s cheeks turned a bright pink. Next to her, she heard Gabe moan. At the end of the table, Van gave out a little snort. He’d made an attempt to hide it behind his water glass. Once again, Birdie pressed her lips together to keep from snickering.
Mrs. Millican’s eyes sparkled, obviously having fun playing the game. She scanned the occupants at the table, gave a nod, and then turned to give Buck her full attention. “In answer to your question, Buck, I used to ride a great deal as a girl. I haven’t been on a horse for many years.”
Her coquettish admission, Birdie imagined, could hold a double meaning. “I would love to try it again. Not a long ride, mind you. These arthritic bones of mine would protest. I don’t want to spend all my time here laid up in bed, racked with aches and pains.”
Again, Birdie wondered if the woman realized the double entendre of her words.
“The hot spring is the perfect way to sooth away aches and pains after a ride,” Birdie piped in to say, desperate to say something to take her mind off, well, off what she’d been thinking. “Jo, what say you? Tomorrow we could get up some provisions and head out to the aspen grove for a picnic. It’s only a couple of miles. We might find some huckleberries. They might be ripe by now.”
“Huckleberries? You have huckleberries out here? I love huckleberry jam,” Edditha declared.
Under the table, Gabe kicked Birdie on the ankle. The kick wasn’t hard, but it was more than a tap, and she gave a little start.
Gabe quickly interjected, speaking to his fiancée. “We have plenty of berries closer than the aspen grove. I’ll take you. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try to ride so far on an unfamiliar mount, especially if you’re not accustomed to a western saddle. No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to ride so far. We’ll take the buggy,” he said, directing his suggestion to his sister and ignoring Birdie altogether. “We can pack more provisions if we take the buggy.”
“Well, you know this country best, and if you think it too far, then I suppose a horse and buggy would be more comfortable,” Edditha said, giving Gabe a nod and a smile of obedience.
Birdie wanted to gag. How silly and condescending. Gabe’s autocratic, high-handed, pompous attitude, added to Miss Millican’s simpering acquiescence to his ridiculous recommendation, made her lose her appetite. She opened her mouth to tell Gabe to get off his high horse but caught Buck’s warning wink before he passed Edditha bread, so Birdie clamped her mouth shut.
Leaning forward around Gabe and past Birdie, her long dark lashes fluttering, Edditha asked, “Will you be joining us, Mr. Norquist…Cornell?”
Birdie pulled back to allow the exchange and took pleasure in the fact that Gabe started to protest but stopped himself, in the nick of time, from saying something rude.
Corney directed his question to Buck. “As tomorrow is Saturday, I think I’ll stay on here if no one objects? I’d love to join in on a picnic.”
Buck nodded and delivered his acceptance with a pointed, hard look which held a warning in it for Corney. “Always welcome a paying guest.”
His children and Birdie heard the unspoken conditions in the look loud and clear. Corney would have to pay to stay, and the man better mind his manners.
“This is a fine meal, Jo,” Buck exclaimed. “Birdie, the stuffing and the gravy are perfect. Petra did a fine job with both of you girls. You’re both mighty fine cooks.”
“As much as Birdie likes to eat, it’s a good thing she knows how to cook a meal,” said Cornell with a chuckle. “Beats me where she puts it all. Little wonder….”
Birdie closed her ears to Corney’s exaggerated, humor-embellished, reminiscences of her adventures with busting seams and gaping buttons. She had to stop listening, or she’d start throwing plates at his head.
When he paused for a breath, she threw caution to the wind and smiled sweetly. Inspired, she placed her hand on his arm, and dug her fingernails into his forearm and said, “I promise I won’t accept your proposal until I improve.”
There, that should shut him up.
»»•««
Gabe struggled to repress a terrific urge to haul Cornell Norquist up out of his chair by his scalp and punch him in the nose. Everyone sat there listening while Norquist took cheap shots at Birdie, directing his witty comments toward Edditha. And Edditha, she encouraged the idiot, smiling and nodding. She actually appeared to be enjoying herself at Birdie’s expense.
Gabe didn’t want to believe she meant to be unkind, but he found it rather thoughtless on her part. Thoughtless in light of how gracious and inclusive Birdie had been during the meal. And damn it, they were engaged, his fiancée shouldn’t be encouraging a big buffoon like Norquist. And Norquist shouldn’t be flirting with Edditha, his fiancée, in front of Birdie. Oh, hell, the entire gathering, the situation, was strange and unsettling, and without a doubt, the conversation between Edditha and Cornell bordered on bizarre.
Birdie had, for whatever reason, decided to let all of Norquist’s cutting barbs slide off her like water off a duck’s back. Which wasn’t like Birdie-Alice at all. Gabe neither understood nor trusted her motives.
What is the matter with her?
“You’ll have plenty of time to improve after we’re married,” Cornell assured his betrothed. “I won’t ask you to cook for me. I don’t expect you to make the beds or clean the windows. We’ll hire someone. You’ll be far too busy with your charities and helping me get ahead in business. I know you can do that. I’ve seen you organize parties and charm guests. You’re a natural. After a bit of taming down, you’ll be the perfect wife.”
Oh, he’d gone too far. Gabe could feel the heat from the fire building within Birdie’s supple, ripe, and blooming body. She pulled up in her seat like a little volcano ready to explode. He heard her inhale and saw her shoulders square up. She thrust out her chest and the fabric of her dress, across her bosoms, strained. On the exposed flesh around the neckline of her dress and down the cleavage between those ample globes, her skin glowed a rosy hot-pink. At last, Gabe would see the true Curly-Birdie of old. She would tell Norquist where he could go in aces and spades, and good riddance.
Raising her napkin to her lips, Birdie dropped her gaze to her plate. When she looked up she turned to Edditha, a sweet, almost serene smile pasted on her lips, she asked, “Do you do a lot of entertaining, Edditha? Jo and I have asked Gabe to tell us if he goes to the theater or concerts, but his descriptions are succinct at best.”
Gabe felt utterly let down, deflated. His shoulders slumped. The topic turned to the social events in Portland, and Birdie deflected the attention away from her to Edditha and Mrs. Millican. He silently congratulated Birdie, even though this new skill of hers set his nerves on edge.
You can’t keep a volcano corked up forever.
It could be Norquist had figured out how to handle Birdie. Like a circus trainer, he poked the bear to keep it in line, letting it know who was boss.
Birdie liked people. She loved socials, gave great parties, knew everyone by name, and remembered their families. Her vivacious personality made her a natural-born hostess. Gabe liked the old Curly-Birdie. He missed her, the one who in days of old would’ve accidentally, on purpose, tossed her stuffing in Norquist’s lap.
Could it be she loved the arrogant, albeit handsome, horse’s ass? Maybe she aspired to marry into the wealthy, powerful Norquist family and elevate herself to become an influential society matron. Who could say, but Gabe didn’t like it, not one bit. He wanted the old Curly-Birdie, the feisty spitfire. He didn’t like this new Birdie, and he didn’t trust her. She wasn’t herself. She was trying too hard to be something she wasn’t.
Chapter Ten
Jo and Birdie had started to clear the
table, and Buck gave the nod to Van to light the torches on the porch posts. Gabe and Van followed the routine they’d perfected over the years. Gabe slipped inside, gathered up two of the oil lamps from the dining room sideboard, lit them, and set them on the table on the porch.
“Would anyone care for a cup of tea or coffee?” Birdie asked from the doorway of the kitchen. Behind her, the sounds of water and the tinkle and thunk of cookware being cleaned teased the imagination as Jo efficiently washed the supper dishes.
In unison, Doreen and Adella chose tea. Edditha agreed, tea would be wonderful. Birdie nodded. “Right, tea for the ladies.”
She waved her hand over her head on her way back inside. “I don’t have to ask you, Daddy, I know what you men want. I’ll fetch the cigars and the whiskey glasses.”
Buck leaned back in his chair and patted his full stomach. “This time of year, you’re lucky to get a cabin all to yourself, Norquist. Dave Thurman, you know Dave? He and his wife Gloria made their reservation last year to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary here with us.”
Gabe shook his head, refusing the offered cigar from the box of Havanas Buck started to pass around. But Corney, Buck discerned, intended to get his money’s worth. Taking full advantage of Hot Spring’s hospitality, he greedily accepted the treat, taking it and rolling it between his fingers first before putting it to his nose to savor the enticing aroma of tobacco.
Buck continued his theme. “Yeah, they’d planned on a big get-together here with all their kith and kin. But they canceled at the last minute. Then we got a letter from the Calveras. They’d planned a family reunion the end of this month.”
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