The Drifter

by Lisa Plumley

  Graham couldn’t answer. His mind—his heart—was stuck on the word friend, and the soft, sincere way she’d said it. When was the last time a woman had called him friend? Not since Frankie, and she’d known him from childhood.

  But an answer wasn’t needed. A moment later, Julia opened the box with a little jiggle of anticipation, and looked inside.

  “A hatpin!” Smiling, she lifted the delicate spun-metal creation from its place in the box. “Thank you! It’s beautiful.”

  Not so beautiful as you, when you smile at me that way, Graham thought, watching as she fiddled with the pin’s placement through her hat. But all he could muster aloud was a gruff, “You needed something to keep those monstrosities on your head. ’Tis a stiff wind that blows from the mountains to this town.”

  She clasped his hand in both of hers. The warmth of her skin could be felt even through her gloves, and her grasp was excitedly firm. Julia’s eyes shined a bright, happy blue.

  “You are a kinder man than you let on, Mr. Corley,” she said quietly.

  He muttered a denial.

  “It’s true.” She skimmed her hand over his jaw, briefly cupping his face in her gloved hand. “And I swear that before this is done, I’ll prove it to you.”

  “Hmmph.” With a smile to hide his uneasy feelings, Graham turned to the book-laden table to begin their lessons. “I doubt it.”

  The trouble was, he realized as Julia joined him across the table and opened a book, she already had begun to prove his kinder side to him. And he feared he was already far past the point of refusing her anything else she wished.

  Their days together continued, taking on a predictable pattern. They met at the abandoned shed in the mornings, practicing pronunciation and reading over selections from the McGuffey’s reader. In the afternoons, Julia helped Isabel at the soda fountain in the Emporium. Mr. Corley, she suspected, spent that same time conducting business at various establishments in town, looking for word of a new bounty-hunting engagement, for when their “betrothal” was finished.

  And in the evenings, he would come to call on her. Those were the times she began to look forward to most…for it was then, seated side by side with Graham, that Julia allowed herself to believe their affection for each other was real.

  She allowed herself, for a single precious hour each night, to believe that he really did care for her. That he truly meant the lingering looks he gave her. That he listened avidly to everything she said because he wanted to, not because she’d promised to tutor him in return.

  And it was not only his conversation that enthralled her. It was the whole of the man himself. He was powerful and sure, loyal and mysterious, with a continually easy laugh and a love of all things ribald and improper. Graham exerted a pull upon her unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and Julia knew that if she had not chosen wisely for her false fiancé, she had at least chosen thrillingly.

  His attentions kept her in a state of anticipation-filled excitement. Julia took to reciting portions of her behavior books, silently, just to keep her head when the bounty hunter smiled. On one occasion, Mr. Corley reached across her skirts to take a sweet from Alice’s platter, and the careless brush of his forearm over her knees required recitation of all the proper cutlery for a formal meal, just to avoid an unladylike exclamation…or worse.

  She wasn’t sure what was happening to her, but she was certain Mr. Corley was at fault. He charmed her, wooed her, and continued to bring her unsuitably permanent gifts. It was almost as though he intended to surround her with mementos of their time together, so that after he was gone, she would remember him.

  As though she could possibly forget.

  He was an excellent learner, with an ability to concentrate that astounded her. Once he’d set his mind to something, Julia discovered, Graham Corley could not be deterred. ’Twas likely a quality that helped him in his bounty hunting, but she found it unnerving to think he may have applied that skill to his courtship of her, as well. How would she ever separate sham from genuine, when he proved so adept at both?

  It wasn’t that he was dishonest. It was merely that he’d agreed to help her, and doing so required a certain quantity of…embellishment. Julia had the sense that under ordinary circumstances, it would have been impossible to coax so much as a well-meant, polite-society fib from Graham—and it was that, most of all, which concerned her.

  Why had he agreed to compromise himself…for her? Surely he could have received reading instruction from any number of tutors during his travels. It seemed unlikely that an interest in reading alone was enough to motivate such a decision. Bedeviled by the question, Julia told herself Mr. Corley was simply an honorable man helping a lady in need, and tried to leave it at that.

  She was, unfortunately, not very successful. She never had been terribly skilled at leaving an unanswered question well enough alone.

  But as the days drew on and became nearly two weeks in Graham’s company, Julia had to admit that her scheme was, at least, successful. Even her father, whose insistence she find a loving husband to accompany her East had begun it all—seemed to enjoy the bounty hunter’s company. With her papa’s approval so nearly in hand, Julia decided it was time to move forward to the next step.

  Never mind that she’d originally thought the demands her father had placed on her leaving would be impossible to fill. Never mind that finding a man to love her wholeheartedly, bookish ways and all, had seemed as achievable as finding a real-life knight in shining armor. With Graham she had found a man willing to pretend those things were true, and that would have to be good enough for now.

  With that assurance in mind, Julia made ready to begin the next part of her plan to leave Avalanche: turning Graham Corley into the ideal suitor.

  In the private salon of a clothier’s establishment at the edge of Avalanche, Graham stared into the looking glass and frowned. Reflected beyond his image were those of Julia and the tailor, Georges, a Frenchman who’d come to the Territory hoping to strike it rich in Tombstone. He’d eventually retired to the north after several unsuccessful digs. If his mining equipment had been as froufrou as the gentleman’s suit Georges had outfitted Graham with…well, he was surprised the man had made it out alive at all.

  “What do you think?” Julia asked, clasping her gloved hands together and giving him an expectant look. “Georges assures me it’s the latest style.”

  “Oui,” Georges said. “The fancy plaid wool cassimere is très elegant. It becomes you, monsieur.”

  Doubtfully, Graham stared down at the gray suit with red-and-black checks interwoven into the fabric. The coat buttoned halfway to his knees, the pants rode high on his boots, and the shoulders constricted his movement so much that he felt nigh shackled. He squinted into the looking glass again. Oddly enough, the whole effect looked familiar, somehow.

  And then it struck him. He’d once seen something very much like it on an embezzling vaudevillian actor he’d tracked down in New Mexico Territory. Quite possibly, this was the same ugly suit.

  “How long have you been a tailor, Georges?” he asked.

  “Oh, many years now. Oui. It was my first love, before the gold fever struck me. I must say, I—”

  “The truth.”

  “Monsieur! I tell you truly, I—”

  Graham shifted subtly. He looked over his shoulder, and waited.

  “—six months,” Georges admitted reluctantly. He gave an eloquent Gallic sigh. “Before I tried my hand at mining, I was a…a chimney sweep in Baltimore.”

  Julia gasped. “You assured me you’d trained in Paris! Sir, I am positively shocked.”

  She stared in openmouthed amazement from the tailor to Graham, and back again. Georges shrugged.

  How did you know? she mouthed to Graham. Then, as though she’d grasped the reality of their situation, Julia pressed her lips together and straightened.

  “Well, since Avalanche has no other tailor, you will have to do,” she announced. With a businesslike air, she approache
d Graham, her pale blue skirts rustling. “We have calls to pay later this week, and Mr. Corley simply must be outfitted properly.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You call this proper?”

  “With a few adjustments, certainly.”

  Graham snorted. “Do you plan to adjust the suit or me? Because if it’s me…I like my legs the length they are.”

  “We shan’t hack them off at the ankle, just to make the trousers fit,” Georges said with a twitter. “Although if you were a tad less muscular, it might help. Also—”

  “Stay out of this, chimney sweep.”

  The man closed his mouth, and developed a sudden interest in a bolt of fabric on the nearby worktable.

  “Mr. Corley, please,” Julia said, touching his upper arm, “there’s no need for surliness. Be reasonable. I think you look quite handsome in a suit.”

  Gazing down into her face, he softened. Already he felt closer to Julia than he had to anyone in his life, save Frankie. The weeks they’d spent together had given Graham a risk-free glimpse into the life he might have had, had he chosen a wife and neighbors instead of his wandering ways. He was grateful to her for that. And if wearing the ugly suit would make her happy….

  “I’ll think about it,” he said halfheartedly.

  “Excellent! You won’t be sorry,” she told him, smiling. “A gentleman should always be well-dressed, and his dress should never be noticeable.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  She made a dismissive sound. “Of course it does. It’s from my latest work, Miss Julia’s Behavior Book, volume three. I’m sure you’re not suggesting I’m not knowledgeable about my own field of expertise.”

  Given the number of little girls carrying pet chickens Graham had glimpsed this morning—and the fact that he’d learned the local etiquette instructress was behind the entire sodas-with-chickens craze—Graham wasn’t so sure about that. But he remained silent. Better that, than embark on the nonsensical poultry discussion that was sure to follow.

  His inattention cost him, for a moment later, Julia raised up on tiptoes and slipped something over his head. Graham was too busy savoring the inadvertent press of her bosom against his chest as she balanced herself to notice what it was at first. And then, realization struck.

  “A necktie?”

  “Certainly,” she replied, looking pleased. She grasped the dangling ends as though preparing to knot it herself, and Graham nearly—dangerously—allowed her to. “I adore a gentleman in a necktie. Every proper man needs one, you know.”

  He stopped her hands with his. “Not this man.”

  “But—but—”

  “No. I won’t wear a necktie. Nor a suit. Not for making calls, not for doing business, and not even for being buried in.” Graham’s boots clomped as he released her and strode closer to the mirror to take a final, savage glance. “I won’t do it.”

  He wrenched off the necktie and flung it away.

  “Please, Mr. Corley! Let’s not be hasty. I truly think that with a few minor alterations—”

  Decisively, Graham unbuttoned the coat and tossed it aside.

  Julia gawked.

  He set to work on the shirt, wrenching the cuffs open. He shucked his boots and kicked them across the clothier’s glossy parquet floor, watching them come to a stop beneath the shop window. At the heavy thud they made, Julia jerked. Her gaze whipped back to him, and he could see her gathering her determination as he took off his shirt.

  “Wait. With a few alterations, we could certainly—”

  His shirt landed atop a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. “Miss Julia, unless you want to alter your sense of maidenly innocence,” Graham said, “I suggest you take your leave now. I’m about to remove my pants.”

  He reached for his fly. She shrieked. By the time the hideous gray, red-and-black-checked mass of wool hit the floor, Julia had fled for the safety of the shop’s front yard.

  Clad only in his drawers and a pair of socks, Graham listened to the clank of the door shutting behind her and couldn’t help but grin. It seemed he and Miss Hoity-Toity had made progress together…if the dead-on interest in her face had been anything to go by.

  After all, she’d stayed until two-thirds of his clothes were off. Given another few days, who knew what could happen?

  The barber shop in Mulligan’s hotel was the most elegant, most modern establishment in all of Avalanche. The windows looking onto Main Street were plate glass. The barber chairs were ornately carved mahogany, with red velvet padded cushions, tilted head- and foot-rests, and fully adjustable reclining capabilities. One entire wall was lined with ornate shaving mugs, their tidy arrangement in floor-to-ceiling cubicles a testament to the resident barbers’ skills.

  Another wall boasted green-and-rose floral wallpaper, mostly obscured by advertisements for hair tonics and straight razors. In the back room, hot baths were sold for twenty-five cents—soap and towel included. For ten cents and two bits more, any man in town could enjoy a fresh shave and a haircut. Many of Julia’s gentleman acquaintances and neighbors availed themselves of the services regularly.

  Graham Corley, however, looked askance at the entire operation. When they arrived late after a reading lesson one morning, he scrutinized the waiting barbers in their matching white coats, neckties, close-clipped haircuts and waxed mustaches. Then, making a sour face, the bounty hunter immediately turned to leave.

  Fortunately, Julia had anticipated just such a development. She’d convinced her father to come along for a fresh toilette, as well. Unless Graham wanted to tread upon Asa Bennett in his haste to leave, he was stuck.

  He realized as much when he all but barreled into the older man, and was forced to stop a few feet from the exit.

  He pivoted slowly. “Miss Julia,” he said, and there was a definite speculative glimmer in his midnight eyes. “You’ve tricked me.”

  She felt the considerable force of his attention directed solely upon her. Swallowing hard, Julia blustered onward anyway. “Sir, I would never presume to—”

  “You’ve tricked me.”

  At the warning tone in his voice, she remembered poor Georges, the fraudulent tailor, and how he’d so readily confessed to the bounty hunter. She was likely to fare no better. Perhaps it would be best to desist, Julia decided.

  “I merely failed to mention this small detour,” she told him, examining her kid gloves for spots. “Nothing more.”

  Graham spoke through his teeth. “You said we were taking your father to lunch at the hotel dining room. This, unless I’ve mistaken shaving mugs for soup bowls, is not the dining room.”

  Boldly, Julia took his arm and steered him toward the first barber’s chair. Her father followed, and settled into his usual place. The comforting sounds of the other barber greeting her papa, retrieving his mug from the rack, and shaking out a towel for his face filled the shop.

  “Well, it’s just that I so adore a man with a nice close shave,” she said in a low voice. “And I thought we could stop here before lunch, just in case you felt in need of one. You, quite naturally, look very handsome as you are. However, if things are to take their natural course between us…” Julia cleared her throat delicately, raising her eyebrows to achieve the desired intimation. “Well, I think you understand what I mean?”

  What she meant was that Julia Bennett could not possibly allow herself to become betrothed—even falsely—to an unkempt, unfashionable, and most of all unshaven, fiancé. No one would ever believe their ruse, in that case.

  Amazingly enough, Graham nodded.

  “I do.” His grin was surprisingly broad. And for some reason, the rogue waggled his eyebrows, too. “I guess a shave won’t kill me.”

  The barber, a thin man who hadn’t removed his gaze from the bounty hunter’s gun belt since they’d arrived, swallowed hard. “Indeed, sir. I assure you it will not.”

  Graham settled into the nearest chair, watching with narrowed eyes as the barber drew the razor over the strop. Then he settled bac
k and folded his hands over his chest. His eyes drifted peaceably shut.

  This was proceeding even more smoothly than Julia had dared hope! With a final glance at her soon-to-be “fiancé,” she gathered her reticule in her hands and prepared to leave.

  “I have some errands, but I’ll be back in an hour or so,” she said. “Do take advantage of the facilities here, Mr. Corley. I understand the bathing room has been recently installed, and is said to be most pleasurable.”

  Suddenly, an image assailed her—one of the bounty hunter lounging in an enormous galvanized tub, with soap bubbles surrounding him and steam wreathing his clean-shaven face. She imagined the gleam of water against his skin, the scandalous length of his dark hair streaming in wet hanks as it clung to his neck and shoulders. She saw, as though it was happening at this very moment, the flex and play of Graham’s muscles as he soaped his sinewy arms and muscular chest…and cursed that glimpse of his partly naked self she’d had at the clothier’s. It had made her occasional wonderings that much more vivid.

  That much more difficult to ignore.

  Swathed in shaving lather, Graham cracked open one eye. He seemed puzzled to find her still there. “Fine. I might try a bath, although I can buy the same for five cents less at Mrs. Harrington’s boardinghouse.”

  The barber sniffed in offense. Mr. Corley ignored him.

  Julia blinked, attempting valiantly to throw off her new vision. This one featured an outrageously unclad Graham, dripping water as he extended his arm to invite her into the tub with him. In fascination, she allowed her gaze to drift to his forearm…his hand…his fingers. Would it really be so unforgivable to explore the romantic side of her nature, while she carried out this faux marriage scheme? Certainly the free thinkers at Vassar hadn’t believed so. And honestly…

  Miss Julia’s Behavior Book, volume two: Let all women remember that to be pure and to seem pure at all times and in all places, is to establish a character which is armor proof against debauchery, malice and slander. One must guard against the temptations of indulgence, in all forms.