by Lisa Plumley
Honestly, she did feel a little shaky still. But as soon as she paid attention to that feeling—instead of thinking about how dire it was and worrying about how much worse it might become—her shakiness began to subside. Full of relief, Rosamond smiled.
“Maybe I’m not going to die today!” Or anytime soon, either.
“Maybe you’re not.” Smiling, Miles went on supporting her. “Maybe all the times you’ve come to town, over and over again with me, have gotten you more ready than you knew. You’re not trembling anymore, either. Are you too hot? Too cold?”
As hard as she could, Rosamond considered how she felt.
She felt…as though the worst had passed. Her dress, dampened by perspiration, still stuck to her underarms. Strands of hair clung to her rapidly cooling neck. But her dizziness had gone. Her pressing sense of imminent doom had faded, too.
“I’m fine.” Jubilantly, Rosamond realized it was true. She was fine. For months now, she’d feared this happening. She’d feared having her bizarre malady’s symptoms overtake her in a place she couldn’t escape from. But now that they had—now that she’d come successfully through the other side of it all—she felt perfectly well. “I could dance another victory jig!”
“Another victory jig?” Miles raised his eyebrow. “That’s what that was? The other day? At your house?”
“Of course. I was happy to have beaten you.”
“Beaten me?” He seemed baffled. “In what contest?”
In the contest of whether I could distract you from Lucinda and the baby, Rosamond recollected too late. Whoops.
Why did she keep letting down her guard with Miles?
Easy. Because she loved him, a part of her replied, and Rosamond knew that was true. She did love Miles. She’d loved him in Boston and she loved him now—not least of all because he’d stood by her and helped her through her frightening experience.
Nonchalantly, she waved away his lingering question, hoping he wouldn’t pursue it more diligently. “All this time, I’ve been accidentally making things worse, not better, for myself,” Rosamond confided. “All this time, I’ve been running away—even when I was at home, safe behind my gate and my protectors.”
“You were only doing what you thought you had to.”
She nodded. “What I felt each time was so real. So scary!” Rosamond shook her head, growing curious about her situation. “I just knew I had to take it seriously. Intense feelings like those couldn’t just exist for no reason, I thought.” Idly, she moved aside to let someone pass. “But now I’m wondering…”
“You’re wondering whether the ten pounds of crackers I want will fit in that little basket of yours?” Jokingly, Miles nodded toward another nearby barrel. “I enjoy a good cracker.”
Lightheartedly, Rosamond grinned. “Now I’m wondering if maybe sometimes feelings do come over a person. Like memories do. Like the weather does. After all, rain isn’t a problem on its own…unless you’re worried about ruining your brand-new shoes. It’s all in what you tell yourself, isn’t it?”
Miles shrugged. “I’m just a stableman. All I know is that you look like you’ve put down a hundred-pound load someplace.”
“I have.” Proudly, Rosamond straightened. Thanks to Miles’s steadfastness—thanks to her own resiliency and willingness to trust in him—she felt stronger than ever. “If this problem tries to sneak up and ambush me later, I’ll know exactly what to do.”
“You’ll let me help you. That’s what you’ll do.”
“You might not be there.”
“I’ll damn well be there.”
Rosamond pacified Miles with a pat to his brawny arm. “But if you’re not, I’ll know I can handle things myself.”
“You won’t have to handle things yourself.” Miles frowned, seeming gravely perturbed. “Why do you keep saying you’ll have to handle things by yourself? I’ll be there!”
“Of course you will. But if you’re not—”
A mutinous scowl was Miles’s only reply this time.
“—I’ll just borrow your effective technique of thinking about what’s actually happening instead of telling myself a terrible story about what I’m scared might happen.”
He perked up. “That was my idea. It worked, too.”
She loved it when Miles showed off his confidence and manliness. On him, those qualities were a natural fit.
“I reckon your dizzy spells are just another outcome of that oversize imagination you mentioned having.” Miles steered her assuredly toward the cracker barrel, seeming doubly determined now to get into it. “Maybe if you apply your fanciful thoughts to other areas, you’ll feel a lot better.”
“‘Other areas’? Such as?”
“Such as me. You. Us, together, putting away the twenty pounds of crackers I aim to buy just as soon as you quit dawdling and step up to Mr. Hofer’s counter.”
“I see. And after we’ve stowed your provisions?”
“I believe you can recall our plans for after that.”
“Yes.” Rosamond could. She recalled that those plans were meant to involve kissing and closeness and all-over love. Wholly unbidden, a smile came to her face. “I can. I can hardly wait.”
Chapter Twelve
While in the mercantile with Rosamond, Miles had realized two important things. First, that Rosamond had known darn well that he’d seen Lucinda Larkin and that unaccounted-for baby at her house, because she’d all but gloated over having distracted him from his glimpse of them. Second, that Rosamond had grown even braver and stronger than he’d expected her to—and in a very short time, too. She wouldn’t need to close herself off behind her locked doors and security men and secrecy for much longer.
He was glad he’d been able to help her break free.
That afternoon, after they left Hofer’s mercantile, there was no sign of the woman he’d first encountered in Morrow Creek—the woman who was self-possessed but wary, direct but hidden away, intelligent but afraid. That afternoon, a transformed Rosamond McGrath Dancy left the mercantile as a woman who could handle anything that life and its vagaries could throw at her.
For proof of it, Miles only had to watch her move.
“Well, I think that’s that.” Smartly, Rosamond strode across Miles’s quarters at Owen Cooper’s livery stable, looking for all the world as if she owned the place. “All your purchases are safely stowed away. Except the crackers, of course. All twenty pounds wouldn’t fit your cupboards, so you’d better get eating.” With a smile to accompany her teasing exaggeration of his love of crackers—because they’d only purchased two pounds, not an outrageous twenty—Rosamond took in his living area, his corner kitchen, his narrow bed with its two piled-up pillows and neatly spread coverlet. “You’ve kept things tidy here. I approve.”
He approved of the way she looked just then, all auburn hair and sparkly eyes and unconquerable demeanor. In her calico dress and high-button shoes, Rosamond was the very image of a proper lady. But in her sidelong mischievous glances and willingness to “accidentally” brush against him as they put away tinned beans and cornmeal, Rosamond was one hundred percent alluring woman. She knew what she wanted. It involved those kisses he’d promised her. Kisses that would roam all over her body…
No. He’d better not think about that now, Miles admonished himself. Otherwise, he’d prove a very poor host for Rosamond’s first visit to his new home. He wanted her to feel comfortable.
“I trained a long time to be a stableman. I learned that everything has its proper place.” Miles shrugged. “Plus, Mrs. Cooper comes up here sometimes for a visit with Élodie and the baby. She brings me things she’s baked when she wants to test a recipe. I don’t want this place to look a mess when she does.”
“Yes, I understand Mrs. Cooper is a marvelous cook.” Languidly, Rosamond traced her hand over the arched back of his kitchen chair. “Her cookery books are sold all over. Poor Mr. Nickerson can’t even keep those volumes in stock at his shop.”
“I can see why. Her
baking rivals Molly Copeland’s.”
“Mmm. That’s certainly saying something.” Rosamond fiddled with her hair, drawing Miles’s attention to the elegant curve of her neck, the slender gracefulness of her arm…the feminine curve of her bosom. He doubted she knew the nature of his thoughts. “I imagine little Élodie and the Coopers’ baby daughter must adore you, just the way all the children in my household do.”
“I reckon they do.” In truth, those adorable little girls’ adoration of Miles held no bounds. When they came to his quarters, Élodie wasted no time requesting piggyback rides, proclaiming that Gus had been “too old” to indulge her. The baby, Fleur, only drooled and babbled and grinned, but Miles imagined that she was crazy about him, too. “Fleur hasn’t been too happy lately, since her first tooth started coming in.”
Rosamond gave him a distracted glance. She licked her lips, inciting in Miles an urge to taste her lips. Very, very slowly.
Damnation. Why was he rambling on about baby teeth?
Why, when Rosamond looked so pretty and so inviting…when she seemed so hell-bent on testing his strength of character?
Aha. That was it. Because Miles still wasn’t convinced this visit wasn’t some sort of test designed to gauge his resolve and his better nature and his determination to get into Rosamond’s mutual society. After all, she had seemed annoyed when he’d initially refused. It would be like her to want to push him.
“Mrs. Cooper keeps the girls entertained with those get-togethers she has, though,” he went on, just in case Rosamond was testing him and his underlying desire for her was showing. “Every morning, some of the Morrow Creek ladies show up with their little ones to take part in her mothers’ meetings.”
“Hmm. Isn’t that enterprising of her?” Rosamond didn’t seem entirely enthralled by Miles’s attempts at polite conversation. Instead, she seemed interested in Miles himself—in the fit of his shirt and the shape of his hands and even the fly of his trousers…which felt ever snugger with each glance she gave.
“I do admire Mrs. Cooper,” she said abstractedly. “Gus Winston told me that Daisy’s risen above some very challenging circumstances. She’s proven without a doubt that happy endings can prevail, even for someone with a difficult past.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” Miles turned away, pretending to be absorbed in the correct placement of his valise near the woodstove. In fact, he scarcely saw that traveling bag of his. In his mind’s eye, all he could see was Rosamond smiling at him. Rosamond kissing him. Rosamond coming nearer while unbuttoning all those millions of buttons on her dress… With effort, he cleared his throat. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Yes. That was masterful. He congratulated himself for having come up with such a courteous offer—especially while most of his attention and a fair quantity of his imagination had headed south on him, leaving him at the mercy of his wayward yearning.
“No, Miles. Thank you, but I would not like a cup of tea.”
He sagged with momentary disappointment. That had been his best effort at masculine decorum. Now all he had left to think about was Rosamond’s intoxicating nearness, her remarkable poise, her tempting femininity…and the fact that they were utterly alone just then. They wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone.
“What I would like, instead,” Rosamond said as she came closer to him, her gaze trained on him with what he would have sworn was sweet seductiveness, “is what you promised me.”
“Promised you?”
Rosamond could not look purposely seductive. Could she?
She was kind and caring, not overtly sensual.
Yet she seemed, just then, to be all those things at once.
“You promised me kisses,” she reminded him. “All over.”
At that, Miles almost groaned with needfulness. He had promised Rosamond kisses. All over. At the time, he’d been trying to encourage her to overcome her fears. He hadn’t truly expected to be asked to deliver on such an indecent offer.
“I also have coffee.” Miles blurted out that fact in a burst of saving inspiration, knowing he had to keep trying to hold himself in check. For Rosamond’s sake. “I only have to roast it and cool it, grind it and brew it, and then—”
Rosamond took his hand. “I want those kisses, Miles.”
He couldn’t stand it. “I could make lemonade! Mrs. Cooper told me how it’s done. I was only half listening, on account of playing checkers with Élodie at the time, but I think I can—”
“Miles, stop.” A pause. “Are you worried about me?”
“Always.” But he hadn’t been thinking about that. About everything Rosamond had been through and all the ways she might be scared of Miles’s more wicked impulses. Until now. Now he was worried. Hellfire. He had twice the reasons to behave himself.
“You don’t have to worry about me.” Reassuringly, Rosamond squeezed his hand. It was funny that she thought she had to comfort him. Miles knew damn well he was stronger than she was. “I want to be here, Miles. I want to be here with you. Alone.”
Her low, private intimation made everything clear.
His Rose had come to collect her kisses. She was not taking no for answer. Just as in all the rest of her life, Rosamond meant to conquer Miles and his meager sense of propriety, too.
He didn’t stand a chance holding out against her.
His only hope at maintaining any propriety at all was that she might be bluffing. Sometimes Rosamond liked to bluff, Miles recalled fuzzily. Maybe this was one of those times.
Maybe now, while she stood there with her calico-covered hips curving alluringly next to his kitchen chair and her smile smiling enticingly up at him and her fingers absently stroking his pine tabletop in a way that all but forced him to wonder what her fingers would feel like sliding over his skin…
Maybe now Rosamond was only pretending. So she could win.
So she could perform another endearing victory dance.
Dredging up every ounce of fortitude he possessed, Miles faced Rosamond. Her eager, affectionate expression was nearly his undoing. All he wanted was to be with her, in every way.
But he needed to make sure she wanted that, too.
“All right. Kissing.” He hitched up his britches, preparing for the outrageous bluff-calling to come. “That’s fine.”
“You mean it would be fine if it ever got started.”
Her laughing eyes convinced him she was bluffing. If he hadn’t thought so before, looking at Rosamond then would have persuaded him. She didn’t really want his all-over kisses.
“The first step,” Miles said, “is that you get naked.”
“What?”
His shrug cost him half the resolve he had left. Because saying so had made him imagine it happening…and the idea of Rose, his Rose, nude and willing before him made him shake.
“You’ll have to get naked,” Miles explained hoarsely, “before all the kissing can start. That’s how it’s done.”
Skeptically, Rosamond eyed him. “It’s full daylight out.”
“It’s easy enough to draw my curtains.” Miles did so.
Behind him, Rosamond spoke up. “You’ll light a lamp though, right? I mean, there’s enough light in here as it is, but—”
“You want it to be light?”
“Of course. That’s how I’ll know it’s you.” She gazed at him with certainty and love. “I want to savor every moment.”
God help him. Miles wanted that, too.
His bluff-calling wasn’t working. Not sure what else to do, he went to his bureau. He lit the oil lamp. “There. Better?”
“Much better.” Rosamond wrapped her arms around him from behind. She rested her chin on his back. “I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you don’t want to do this.”
He closed his eyes, desperately wanting. “If you hug me much lower, you’ll find out how much I want to do this.”
At that warning, to Miles’s surprise, Rosamond did not wrest away her arms in a panic. Instead, she squeezed him t
enderly. “I’m not afraid of you, Miles. I’ve never been afraid of you. I’m not afraid of anything else, either. Not today.”
That’s when he understood. Rosamond’s success in conquering her fears had made her even bolder than usual. She was drunk with a sense of fearlessness, willing to do things she otherwise wouldn’t. That explained everything…including the way Rosamond brazenly pushed her breasts against his back as she hugged him.
She felt so good. He’d dreamed of her for so long.
“And I’m proud of you,” he managed to say, hoarsely and with effort, “for all you accomplished today. But you can’t do something you might regret. Maybe now isn’t the right time.”
For a moment, there was silence. Rosamond didn’t move.
Then she wriggled confusingly behind him. She reached her hand over his shoulder. She dropped something. It fluttered toward the floor in a curl of palest blue. Miles caught it.
It was the ribbon she’d used to adorn her dress’s neckline.
“Is now the right time?” Rosamond asked.
Miles fisted that ribbon, loving its silkiness. Its feminine delicacy. Its significance. Rosamond had removed the very first barrier between herself and complete nakedness.
Maybe more would follow. Miles didn’t dare turn around to find out. How could he? How could he…and still maintain control?
But Rosamond was even more certain than he’d bargained on. While he stood motionless, trying to be as respectful as he could, Rosamond stepped away from him, still behind him, and went on with whatever tantalizing plan she’d come up with now.
For several long moments, Miles wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand upright. His blood pounded, making him feel hazy. He frowned and flexed his arms, trying to divert his attention.
All he could see was that blue ribbon in his hand.
“Miles, turn around,” Rosamond said. “Look at me.”
Her voice reached inside him, lovely and sure. He could no more resist its call than he could tear down the walls of his new quarters, here at a new stable, here in a brand-new life.
That thought was what helped Miles do as she asked. Because now he had started a new life here in Morrow Creek, as surely as Rosamond had. Maybe, between the two of them, both of their new beginnings could be the start of something unified and real.
