by Ciara Knight
Her words lightened his heart and brought back memories of the first time he'd seen the views from this place. With a gentle touch, he nudged her chin higher. “No, not at all. You sound as I did when I first arrived here.”
“Really? Did you come from a city also?”
He chuckled. “No. I’m from a farm in Kansas.”
She scooted closer and tucked her legs under her, leaning her body toward him. “It must’ve been nice there, too.”
He trailed a finger from her jaw to her shoulder and down her arm then traced the thin lace that decorated her sleeve until he reached her wrist. She shivered under his touch and her lips parted.
“No, not so much. There weren’t any long range views since the forests were more dense. . Plus, we were poor and starving. When my parents died, I thought I’d find gold and make my fortune in a heartbeat. But I ended up driving cattle up here to Glendive. On my second trip, I stayed.”
“That’s how you ended up working for Salter?”
He tensed but fought his emotions back down, not wanting to startle Adelaide. He needed to protect her, not frighten her with his lust for revenge and justice. “Yes, but I knew I wanted more. Some of the men were unhappy, so as soon as I was able to save enough money to buy this land, I hired them and started raising my own cattle.”
“You’ve done well. You should be proud of yourself.”
That deep pit in his belly that always squeezed his insides into a knot pained him. “Don’t know about that. ’Fraid I let many people down in the process.”
She touched his face with tentative fingers, the tips grazing his chin. “You mean your sister?”
His breath caught in his lungs and he couldn’t speak. The pain was still as fresh as the day he’d found her dead in that God-forsaken room at the saloon, so he nodded.
“Stella told me. I’m so sorry you lost her, but it wasn’t your fault. You’re a good man. I don’t know why I believe that when I barely know you, but I do. I think you’re the first good man I’ve met besides my father and my friend’s husband.”
He saw the grief in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here with me. The idea of a man harming you…” The words wouldn’t form on his lips. Images of the bruises marring his sister’s face charged his resolve to remain in the present. That familiar tugging at him to fall to the anger grabbed hold.
"What was her name?" Adelaide asked softly.
“Laura. My sister’s name was Laura.”
Adelaide sat up on her knees and faced him. “As your wife, I hope I can soothe some of your pain.” Before he could respond, she captured him in her embrace. “I hope to make you happy,” she whispered. Her warm breath brushed his face then her lips arrived, a soft, goose-feather touch.
The images of his past faded, and for once, his hands didn’t slip to his gun. Instead, they found Adelaide’s hips. He rose to his knees and guided her closer to him. Her chest pressed to his, capturing his body in a heated embrace. Afraid he'd scare her like a newborn calf, he eased his tongue between her lips and tasted sweet heaven.
The last of the light faded. Animals howled in the distance and night air cooled, but they remained warm, exploring their newfound closeness.
Chapter Seven
Adelaide opened the bedroom door to the smell of bacon and eggs, and the sight of John sitting at the dining table. She smiled. This was going to be an excellent day.
He stood from the table and kissed her forehead. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Adelaide said, her body already responding to his touch. She’d never experienced this kind of longing for a man before. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time, the emotions rolling into one lump in her belly.
“You look beautiful. If you’re up for it, I thought I’d take the day off and drive you into town to buy some material for new clothes and any other things you might need.”
“You are?” Adelaide and Stella asked in unison.
“Yes. Why not?” John sat her by his side.
“No reason," Stella said, “except you’ve never taken a day off in your life. You sure the homestead won’t burn to the ground while you’re gone?” She gave him a mocking smile.
John shook his head and turned his attention to Adelaide’s hands. “Let’s take a look at your palms.” He gently uncoiled the bandages and eyed the red, new skin and drying, wrinkled flesh. She wanted to pull her hand away to hide the ugliness, afraid he'd discard her for being imperfect, but he kept a tight grip on her fingers. “They are healing nicely. You might even be able to take the bandages off tomorrow to let them dry out, but we should keep them protected while we’re in town today.”
Stella set two plates in front of them. “You did a number on yourself, that’s for sure. I think your days of mending fences is over.”
“I just wanted to help. I can’t just sit around and let others do all the work. It’s why I worked in the factory. I couldn’t be the socialite my stepfather wanted me to be. I wanted a purpose and friends and independence.”
John carefully rewrapped the bandages. “And they were going to force you to marry a man and give that up? That shouldn’t happen. Women should have a choice. It's their life, after all.”
Adelaide longed to feel his lips against hers once more, but settled for their knees touching under the table. “You believe women should be allowed to work and not have to marry to survive?” She held her breath, waiting to hear what he truly meant. No man believed women should have rights like that. Well, not since her father.
“Yes, if that's what they want. But you don’t need to work that hard. Not anymore.” He tapped her nose with a fingertip, scooped up a clump of eggs, and shoved them into her mouth. “I’m here to take care of you now.”
She chewed quickly, unable to resist breaking the number one rule any proper lady should abide by opening her mouth to speak before she swallowed. “And I will care for you.”
He smiled. “Yes, and you will care for me.” He shoved another forkful of breakfast into her mouth before she had a chance to speak again. “But no more building fences, agreed?”
She nodded and, using her fingertips, lifted a cup to her lips to sip fresh milk.
“I’ll meet you at the buggy when you're ready and we’ll head out. Stella, can you prepare a picnic lunch for us?” He stood and whispered, “She's not Cook, but it should be edible.”
“I heard that.” Stella scowled. “You want to make dinner tonight?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then I suggest you say thank you and be on your way.”
“How long did Cook say he’d have to extend his trip?” John asked.
“Don’t never you mind. He’ll be here when he gets here. He needs to be home caring for his ma right now.”
“Understood.” He kissed the top of Adelaide's head and disappeared out the door.
Adelaide took a few more sips of her milk then carefully lifted the plates to clear them from the table. “I’m afraid I can't wash them for you, since I need to keep my bandages dry.” Her words made her feel guilty. She'd been trying to help out by mending the fence, but she just ended up creating more concern for the people here.
“Thank you, child. Now, go spend some of that boy’s money. Let him spoil you. He’ll like that. Oh, and the new Mrs. Donahue has something special for you at the mercantile. I ordered it through her husband.”
Adelaide set the dishes down beside the wash basin and cocked her head at Stella. “I don’t understand. Why would Mrs. Donahue have something for me when I don't even know who she is?”
“Because she runs the mercantile, child. My husband and I ordered something through their store and it came in. I thought it would make for a great wedding present. They say it’ll get a man’s attention.” She wagged her eyebrows and Adelaide gasped.
“What are you speaking about?”
Stella dried her hands and hooked her arm through Adelaide’s with a mischievous smile. With a quick step to the door, she shoved Adel
aide forward. “Go enjoy. It’s just something from Paris. We thought you might like the latest fashion.”
A breath of relief released from her lungs. She'd assumed by Stella's smile that it was something indecent, but it was probably just a hat. They were all the rage back in Boston. But to order one from France? “Paris? You shouldn’t have purchased something so extravagant.” The cost alone just to have something shipped from across the Atlantic was heavy, not to mention that Parisian fashions were expensive. The French loved to use extravagant and hard-to-come-by materials in their garments. Her stepfather had suffocated her in yards of fabric, dressing her up like a Parisian doll to show off to his socialite friends when he'd married her mother.
“It wasn’t much.”
She didn’t like the way Stella glanced down at the floor when she'd said much. It had to have been more than she could afford. Perhaps she could send it back. No, that would be rude. “Thank you, Stella. And thank Billy for me.”
“You can thank me by smilin’ a little. And getting that hair up off your neck. It’s not practical to wear it down all the time, with it being so dry and dusty here. You’d look mighty pretty with your hair up. Have John get you some hair pins while you're in town.”
Adelaide scooted toward the door. “I like it down. Perhaps when I’m working. Can I get you anything from town?”
“No, dear. Now, get before that man changes his mind.” Stella gently pushed her through the door, shutting it behind her.
“You ready?” John stood by the buckboard with a smile that could wrangle any woman into riding with him into town. Or all the way to the Pacific for that matter. His hat sat just right on his head, and his thumbs hooked on his belt made him look like something from the cover of a dime novel, dangerous yet intriguing.
Adelaide joined him by the wagon. “Yes.”
His hands slipped to her waist and lifted her onto the seat with ease. That strange fluttering in her belly returned, making her feel as if her stomach was left on the ground while her body perched straight on the seat. Was this what Mary spoke of when she'd met Samuel? Perhaps she could love this man she’d married.
“You comfortable?” John asked before the reins snapped and the horses trotted onto the path they’d taken from town the night before last.
“Yes. I’m well. You positive you can be away all day? I’m fine with what I have. I don’t need much.”
John shook his head. “I really can't figure out where you came from. Most women I’ve known are always looking to have more. My sister always eyed any pretty dress or material we’d stumble upon.”
That dip in his tone made her yearn to fix his heartache for him. She touched his arm with the back of her hand, and he glanced down at her with a smile. Dust from the road spun behind the wheels, filling the air with a haze, but he drove slow and not much dust settled on her dark dress.
"What kind of material do you think you'd like?” John asked.
“I’m afraid I’m not much for fashion. Clothes should be practical and easy to move in." Stain-resistant, too, she thought. There had been countless times her mother had scolded her for getting paint on her clothes. “I feel bad since Stella and Billy bought something for me from Paris. I’m supposed to pick it up in town from a Mrs. Donahue.”
“From Paris and it’s already here?” He chuckled. “They had been planning this for a while.”
Adelaide wanted their circumstances to be different, but there was no changing the past. All she could do was hope they’d get past it. “I hope you don’t feel too much regret for saving me from Salter. I admit I feel guilty you had to sacrifice your way of living to keep me safe.” She gnawed on the corner of her bottom lip, trying to keep her emotions under control.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and snuggled her into his side. “Let me tell you something about Stella. She knows what I need before I even know I need something.”
She swallowed the lump of anxiety lodged in her throat. “Really?”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Really. The woman never gets it wrong. Trust me. I swear she has some sort of special gift. Despite her and Billy never having little ones of their own, she’s probably the best mother I’ve ever known.”
Adelaide wanted to ask more about his family, to know everything about this man, but now wasn't the time. Not when the sun reflected off the canyons and a pleasant breeze swooped between rock formations. Not when the smell of leather and fresh soap mixed with the new sense of freedom she'd found with John by her side. And most of all, not with John’s arm around her.
They drove to town talking the entire time, speaking freely about things of the past, how they felt now, and their dreams for the future. It wasn’t until they pulled into the center of town that Adelaide even realized how long they’d been traveling.
He tied the reins around the brake and hopped down. “Let’s head to the mercantile first. While you look for fabrics, I’ll go take care of a few things then come to get you.”
Adelaide scooted to the edge and savored the heat of his hands on her hips as he lowered her down to the ground. He slid her hand through the crook of his elbow and they sauntered along the wooden walkway to the mercantile.
The town wasn’t busy like Boston, but there were still a lot of people. The sounds from the saloon reached her ears, but it was muffled by the clopping of horse hooves and gentlemen laughing outside a gold mining store.
“I see his new bride has made some changes to the store already,” John said when they reached the door to the mercantile. He pointed to the door's window draped with white lace curtains. A silver bell jingled overhead and all the patrons turned, the store falling silent. Three women, all ones she recognized from the train, stared. Adelaide tucked her hair around her neck, worried they’d seen her scar, but after a moment she realized they weren’t staring at her, but at John. Her stomach tightened and she held tight to him, not sure why they were so distracted by him.
Becca, the friend she'd met on the train, sauntered past a shelf of spices and waved.
John tipped his hat to her. “Howdy, Mrs. Donahue. I hear that Stella has something she ordered for my Adelaide here.”
The way he said my Adelaide made her pulse quicken and a smile claimed her lips.
“Oh yes, I do have a package. How are you doing?” Becca rounded the counter and Adelaide realized she looked different. Her hair was tucked neatly into a bun and she wore an apron as opposed to her blue dress and bonnet. But it was more than that.
John removed his hat and placed it to his chest. “Could you please help her find anything she needs? Fabric, dresses, whatever she wishes. I need to take care of a few things and then I’ll be back.”
Adelaide had to force herself to let John go. She didn’t want to stay here alone. She didn’t care about new clothes, she only wanted to stay by his side on this beautiful day.
“I won’t be long. Please, don't hesitate to get anything you want or need. I want you to be comfortable at the homestead.”
Adelaide nodded. “I’ll get some material to make some more practical clothes.”
“If you wish, but remember, you don’t need to work.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, but he held his hands up in surrender.
“I know. You want to work and I know better than to try and stop you, but we had a deal for the next week.”
“Agreed.”
“Good.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Please make sure she has a nice dress for Sundays," he said to Becca. "Not that anything could make her prettier.”
“I think Stella was wrong about one thing,” Adelaide said.
John’s brow arched over his eye in a playful wiggle. “Really? What’s that?”
“You aren’t so bad with words.”
He laughed, hearty and full. She could still hear his laughter even after he'd closed the mercantile door. Almost instantly, the three women swooped in around her. Becca remained behind the counter, rummaging through some packages,
but her eyes were fixed on the others.
“You’re hurt? My husband told me that John Rivers is an odd one. He’s mean and angers easily.” A young blonde girl with a blue frilly dress held her arm. “Oh, no. Look, girls. What did he do to your hands?”
“Nothing. I did that.” Adelaide tried to tuck her hands behind her back, but the large woman with a plump face that she'd seen on the train kept hold of her arm.
“What happened?”
“I repaired a fence, but my hands weren’t used to that kind of labor, I guess.”
All three gasped in unison. “Then it's true. He’s working you and making you do unspeakable things.”
“What? No, you have it all wrong. He’s a gentle and kind man. He isn’t like that at all.” She straightened and yanked her hands away. “I assure you, my husband is an amazing man. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Adelaide held her chin high, not giving the ladies an opportunity to quiz her or accuse her husband any further, and hurried between a table of ornate ceramics and a box of sack cloth to join Becca in the corner. “I’m ready, if you please.”
“Of course. Follow me to the storage room and we’ll retrieve your package. Sorry, I’m still getting used to where things are stored.”
Adelaide scooted between large sacks of flour and a tall rake. Along the wall were bolts of various fabrics. Most were conservative and would make nice skirts, others were busy and too much for her taste. She rounded the corner and took the package from Becca’s hands. “Well, I guess I should open it, in case I need shoes or a shirt or something to go with what they ordered.”
Becca squeezed her arm. “Thank you for your patience. I want to show my husband that I can do this. I haven’t been doing so well, but I think I can do this job so that he doesn’t have to work so hard.”
“Give it time. We’re all adjusting to our new lives. You’ll do great.” Adelaide managed to untie the thin twine without too much discomfort and unfurled the paper. Inside, she discovered sheer material, too sheer and too thin. She eyed the lace around the neckline and realized this wasn’t a normal dress.
