by Paty Jager
That night, settled on opposite sides of the campfire, she brought up a subject that had been on her mind since she’d washed his shirt. “Where do you think you’ll find Ty Bancroft?”
Sam puffed the air out of his lungs. It flowed until his chest was completely empty and then he refilled the organs. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it lately.”
“Why not? That’s why you’re out here, traveling, looking for him.”
The stars danced in the night sky. He couldn’t find an answer written between the twinkles, so he turned to her.
She rested with one cheek in the swell of her saddle. He wanted to crawl around the fire, and let his chest be her pillow. “I’ve decide to help you find Maggie first, then, if needed, I’ll go look for Bancroft.”
“If needed? Of course you need to find him. Your father expects you to. His grandmother wants him to return to New Orleans.”
He shrugged. “Bancroft must have his reasons for not wanting to see his grandmother. Maybe even if I find him, he won’t return to New Orleans.”
“But you have to find him.” She sat up, wringing her hands together.
Sam sat up, too. “Why?”
“Because…Well, because that’s your job.”
He nodded, but knew there was more she wasn’t saying. “Why do you want me to find Bancroft?” Was she tired of him? Wanted him out of her life? He couldn’t blame her. He’d let her get captured by trappers. Lied to her. Kissed her. She probably did want him gone.
“Because,” she barely whispered.
Sam stood, and walked around the fire. He didn’t want to get out of her life, and she didn’t want him to leave. Loralei liked him, he knew that for certain. A bond had formed between them, one he’d never experienced before, but he was partial to it and wanted it to continue.
He sat down beside her. “Because why, Loralei?”
Her eyes wouldn’t look directly at him.
Sam grasped her cheeks, softly held them and repeated, “Because why, Loralei?”
She lifted those long lashes, exposing her gorgeous lilac eyes. “B-because…” she started.
He asked her to continue with his gaze, told her she could tell him anything, everything.
“Because he has my necklace and I have to get it back before I see Maggie.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“Come here.”
She came willingly, snuggled against his side, weeping slightly.
“Shh,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
The top of her head tickled his chin as she nodded. “I know.”
“Then tell me how Ty Bancroft ended up with your necklace.” He ran a hand up and down her arm.
She let out a deep and heavy sigh. “Maggie gave it to me after the attack. It had been mama’s. It has a picture of me and one of Maggie inside and has a pretty purple stone on the front. Mrs. Baumgartner said it was an amethyst.”
“An amethyst,” he repeated. “The stone of St. Valentine and of perfect lovers.”
She was relaxing in his arms. Liking the feeling, he continued, “I bought my niece Katie an amethyst necklace when she was born. The amethyst is the birthstone for February. A little story came with the necklace.”
“Really? What else did it say?”
“In Ancient Greece people believed the stone could prevent drunkenness.”
“That didn’t work for Mr. Baumgartner,” she said grimly.
He brushed his chin over her hair, wishing he could completely wash Orson Baumgartner from her memories. “It also said that Leonardo Da Vinci claimed the amethyst increased intelligence and dissipated evil thoughts.”
“Really?”
“Hmm, really.” The story also said the amethyst encouraged celibacy. He sure could use that necklace about now. Quickly shaking his head, to dissolve the thought, he asked, “How did Ty Bancroft get it?”
“Mr. Baumgartner took it from me, and then lost it in a game of cards. The winner was Ty Bancroft. He left town the next day, so I didn’t have a chance to buy it back from him.” Her tone grew urgent. “I have to have it when I find Maggie.”
“Honey, your sister isn’t going to care if you have the necklace or not. It’s you she wants to see.”
She shook her head sadly. “You don’t understand.”
More than willing to do anything within his powers to help her, he said, “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t understand.”
“Maggie was always the strong one. The responsible one. She would never have lost the necklace. She trusted me with it. Gave it to me for safekeeping. I have to have it when I find her.”
“Maggie will understand—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I have to have it. I have to prove I’m—”
He placed a finger against her lips. She didn’t need to continue. Sam knew exactly what she felt. How hard it was living up to the golden, older, sibling. “All right,” he said. “We’ll find your necklace before we find Maggie.”
And then he couldn’t stop himself. Sitting here, holding her had heightened his desires. He grasped her face with both hands and kissed her—long and lovingly—like he’d wanted to for the past week.
Her mouth was sweeter than a peach picked right off the tree, and he couldn’t get enough of it. She parted her lips for his exploring tongue to enter. The experience made his head reel. The merger was so complete he swore their hearts beat as one.
Breathless and throbbing at every pulse point, he pulled his mouth from hers and cocooned her in his arms. Their sighs mingled. He’d kissed many women over the years, but never had one affected him like this. Holding her tight, he twisted and lowered them to the ground.
Settling his head on her saddle and hers on his chest, he flipped her blanket over the top of them, and held her, never moving as they both drifted off to sleep.
Hours later, the sun peeking into the eastern sky woke him, and Sam, looking down at the woman in his arms, had never experienced more satisfaction.
The smile that grew on his face never faded, not once in the days and weeks that followed. April slipped into May while they crossed Wyoming and the first of June found them in Idaho. Along the way they stopped in small villages and larger towns, searching for Ty Bancroft and buying pickles for Loralei to munch on as they traveled.
It seemed Bancroft was several months ahead of them no matter where they stopped. He was most certainly on his way to Oregon, and nowhere along the line had he gambled away an amethyst locket.
The proprietor at the Stage Coach Stop Hotel in Fort Hall took a look at the register as Sam signed in. “You the Sam McDonald from New Orleans?”
“Yes, I am. Why?”
“Gotta telegram for you. Ralph Ortis said to give it to you if’n you check in here. Had it for a couple weeks now.” The man bent down and dug in the little cubbies behind the desk. “Aw, here it is.” He handed a folded yellow sheet of paper to Sam.
Sam took the telegram. “The dog will be staying in the room with us.”
The man, tall with a ring of gray hair around the shinny bald spot topping his head and sporting a long handle-bar waxed mustache, leaned over the top of the desk to peer down at Ruth. “He won’t bite the other guests, will he?”
“She,” Sam corrected. “And no, she won’t bite, unless the need arises. I’ll pay extra for her meals.”
The proprietor lifted his bushy brows and nodded. “Good enough.” He handed over a key. “The room’s at the end of the hall. Number 8.”
“Thank you,” Sam offered, leading Lorelei to the stairs.
The note burned a hole in his pocket as they climbed the steps and walked the length of the hallway. There was only one person it could be from. Ire burned his gullet. He was a grown man. Why did he allow his father to have this hold over him? His gaze went to Loralei waiting for him to unlock the door.
Her smile made his heart swell. He pushed open the door and followed her in the small, but clean room. They’d share the bed again, a metal one with scraps of mate
rial sewn into a large star shape on the quilt covering it. Every night since she’d told him about her necklace, they’d slept in each other’s arms, and though his body ached for more, he didn’t allow it to happen. He’d found the act of holding her quite satisfying—mystifyingly rewarding even. Though, he knew deep down, it wouldn’t keep him satisfied forever. There were some mornings he woke up so—
Sweat popped out on his forehead. He rushed to the window and threw open the sash. The urge was definitely getting harder to control.
Ruth jumped onto the bed, sniffing the quilt.
“Get down,” Loralei demanded.
The dog looked at him, her big brown eyes asking if she had to. He nodded and Ruth jumped to the floor. She found a spot on the rug and rested her head on her front paws.
His leg was blistering, so he pulled the yellow paper from his pocket. Two lines of block letters leaped off the page.
Expected update by now stop
Wedding November 1 stop
Loralei pulled things from her saddle bag, shaking the clothes of wrinkles before hanging them on the hooks near the door. It was something she did in every room they stayed. Tomorrow she’d put on the blue dress she’d washed along the trail a couple of days ago. As soon as he’d seen it, back in a general store in Wyoming, he knew he had to buy it for her. The blue made her eyes all the more purple. He’d bought himself a new set of clothes as well. A pair of pants and a shirt, they were much more suitable for the trail than the pin-striped suit. He grinned recalling how she’d washed his suit and packed it away in one of his bags like it was a treasure to save for evermore.
She turned from hanging the gown, and her eyes darted to the paper in his hand.
He shoved it back in his pocket. “It’s from my father. He wants an update on Bancroft.”
“You’ll want to go wire him.” She moved across the room to where an enamel pitcher and bowl sat.
“Yeah, I better.” He held the sigh pressing on his chest.
“Yes, you better.” She poured water into the basin to wash the trail dust from her hands and face. He knew her actions better than he knew his own.
She’d told him everything about her family. There probably wasn’t a thing about her he didn’t know, yet, he on the other hand, had kept any information, other than the necessities, locked in his mind as if it were a bank vault. He didn’t know why, other than he was a bit ashamed of how he’d accepted his life, never thought about what he really wanted, that is until he’d met her.
He took the cloth from her hand. “Would you like to take a bath while I’m gone?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. That’s too costly. We have to con—”
“I’ve told you before, I have plenty of money. Don’t worry about conserving it. Besides a bath isn’t very expensive.”
Her eyes screamed with want, but she shook her head. “No, you’ve spent enough—”
He was only going to stop her protest with a short kiss, but instead, he folded her in his arms and took his time, savoring every moment. When the kiss broke, mainly because they both needed to breathe, he said, “I’ll have one sent up. Take your time. I’ll be awhile.”
A loving smile settled on her lips. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He winked and closed the door behind his exit.
He ordered the bath as he left the hotel and that’s when it hit him—probably because it took that long for the ringing in his ears and the humming in his body to dispel after kissing her sweet lips. The thought that struck was how his father knew where to find him. Back in Rock Creek, before they left Mrs. Lyons’ hotel, he’d gone to the bank and wired for funds from his account in New Orleans. He still had the bank drafts from the firm, but he’d chosen not to spend them. He wanted to spend his money on Loralei and finding her sister.
After college, when it was clear the family business only had room for one brother at a time, he’d started raising horses, good horses. A couple of colts had sold for a tidy sum, and he’d banked it. When Thomas died, and he was brought into the firm, he’d sold the rest of his herd, including the breeding stock. At his father’s insistence of course. No one knew how much he’d made off the sales. They hadn’t asked and he hadn’t said—just put it in the bank.
As soon as Sam had the money wired west, Myles would have been informed. The thought ate at his craw. There was nothing he had that was private—nothing truly his alone.
He stopped in front of the telegraph office. A smile settled on his lips. His family may have known everything about him back in Louisiana, but here, now, he was his own man. He had his own life, one that included a woman he loved, and she loved him. Of that he had no doubt. Rewarding warmth grew inside him, and he strolled into the telegraph office. “Gotta send a telegram.”
“Its two-bits for two lines,” the agent said from his desk along the wall. In a no-nonsense way, the man grabbed a stubby lead pencil and looked up. “Who’s it to, and what’ll it say?”
“Myles McDonald, New Orleans.” Sam waited until the man finished writing before adding, “No news. Stop. Won’t be home by November. Stop.”
“That it?”
“Yup.”
“Two-bits.”
Sam set a couple coins on the man’s desk. “Know where I can get a bath and shave?”
“Barber’s across the road.”
“Thanks.”
The man began tapping on his little wood and metal device, and Sam, feeling like a new man, walked out into the sunshine.
Chapter Twelve
The bath was sinfully wonderful. Loralei drew in a deep breath and held it as she slipped below the warm water. She really should put a stop to Sam and his wasteful spending. But it was so hard to say no to him. Even when she did, he counteracted so abruptly she didn’t have time to think up another reason.
He practically lavished her with possessions. She now had three complete sets of clothing. More than she ever remembered owning. And she’d eaten so many pickles the past weeks she’d almost grown tired of them. Almost. It was highly doubtful she’d ever completely lose her appetite for them. It was silly to like something as much as she did pickles. In all honesty, the only thing she liked more was Sam.
Well, and Ruth and Raindrop. She loved them as much as she did Sam.
It had gotten to the point that when they entered a new town and looked for Ty Bancroft, she hoped they wouldn’t find him. Because if they found Ty, Sam would have to leave to take Ty back to New Orleans. Yes, she would have her necklace, and she wanted it, wanted to prove to Maggie she was responsible. But she wanted Sam more. She even wanted Sam more than she wanted to see Maggie, which was perplexing because she’d missed Maggie so much her heart had ached inside her chest for the last ten years.
Since she’d met Sam her heart hadn’t hurt, instead a new kind of warmth filled it. Blood raced through her chest simply at the thought of him. When he took to kissing her, or holding her tight, she was afraid her heart might pound its way right out of her body, leave her dead at his feet. There were times when they snuggled, and he ran his hand over her arms or down her back that she wanted to crawl right out of her skin and into his. It was all so baffling she didn’t know what to do, especially when the private, secret places of her body throbbed and stung with a strong desire.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know what men and women did. She’d delivered babies—knew how they came to be. But, Archie, the big and bald trapper had said no man wanted a virgin; all they did was scream and cry. She couldn’t imagine Sam doing anything that could make her scream and cry.
Loralei stood, grabbing the towel lying beside her clothes, she’d thought about asking Sam what the trapper meant. He was such a good listener. She could tell him anything, ask him anything, but for some reason this subject seemed too private. Besides, she didn’t want him to think she was completely stupid.
“Oh, if only you were a person,” she said to Ruth as she stepped out of the tub. “You know what I’m talking about, don’
t you?”
The dog barked and ran across the room. A second later, the door opened and Sam walked in. Frozen like water in January, Loralei didn’t so much as quiver. Couldn’t.
Time seemed to also freeze, for it felt like eons before he mumbled, “Sorry,” and spun around.
The door slapped shut. Loralei, now blistering from head to toe, slumped to the bed.
Ruth let out another bark. The door cracked open. “Come,” Sam said from the other side.
The dog slipped through the opening. Loralei grabbed the towel and buried her flaming face. Her insides tumbled and her head spun. In that split second, when his eyes lifted from her nakedness and his gaze latched on to hers, she’d felt something strong and sturdy. If she hadn’t been glued to the floor, the powerful draw would have pulled her across the room.
She peeked out from behind the towel. Excitement raced through her body. There had been something else in his eyes.
Snatching her clothes off the bed, she dressed in record time. After quickly brushing and braiding her hair, she headed out the door, in search of her dog and Sam.
Loralei found them in the empty lot beside the hotel. Ruth racing across the patch of green, low-cut grass, retrieving a stick Sam tossed.
She stepped up beside him. “Hi.”
His cheeks were quite red. They could be burned from the summer sun that lead their way west every day, or maybe it was because he was freshly shaven and bathed.
“Hi.” He bent down to reclaim the stick Ruth dropped near his feet and tossed it again.
“Did you get your telegram sent?”
“Yes.”
She mustered up all the courage she’d ever hoped to have. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he said, picking up the stick again.
“Do you like virgins?”
His arm, drawn over his shoulder, dropped. The stick, lobbing in the air overhead, caught the side of her head as it fell. It wasn’t painful, but startling enough that she yelped.
