The Drifter

by Lisa Plumley

  She was indecipherable.

  Whip-smart, damnably determined, secretly softhearted and prettier than any woman in ridiculous head-wear had a right to be, she was unlike anyone he’d ever known. He wanted to understand her, and to please her—which explained Godey’s, and the shave, and especially the necktie. But more and more, Graham feared his efforts would come to nothing.

  He was not a man who knew about settling down. Nor was he a man who courted the way ladies seemed to want to be wooed, with sugared words, ten-dollar compliments and false promises. If he were wise, Graham knew, he’d pull foot from Avalanche right now, and go back to the trail. There, things were familiar.

  Lonely, but familiar.

  “Awww, the hell with this,” Graham muttered. “Only a crazy man talks to the mirror.”

  Then he gave himself a nod, pulled his hat back on, and headed downstairs. This time, he didn’t stop once.

  Together, Julia and Graham said their goodbyes to Mrs. Harrington. Together, they left the boardinghouse and descended the few steps to the gritty boardwalk beyond. Neither said much; each avoided the other’s eyes, as though stricken suddenly shy.

  Twilight cast shadows along Main Street as Julia let Mr. Corley take her arm to guide her. They always seemed to be together in the half-light, she mused as his fingers wrapped familiarly around her elbow. Just after dawn, just before sunset, just as night fell, or in the shade…forever between one state and the other.

  The bounty hunter cleared his throat. She glanced up at him. Now seemed the perfect time to bring out her new knowledge about his business, so Julia drew in a breath.

  “I’ve been reading about Sheriff Shibell, down in Tucson,” she began, awkwardly.

  “I reckon the, uh, new smaller bustle is a good idea,” Graham said at the same time. He rubbed the back of his neck, and cast her an inquiring look.

  “I’m sorry, do go on.”

  “I understand calico is an enduring favorite,” he rumbled on, looking supremely uncomfortable. And oddly determined.

  “Yes.” Dressmaking? From the bounty hunter? “As was Charles Shibell. As sheriff from 1877 to 1880, he had a terrible time with those desperadoes who were menacing travelers on the stage, though. Perhaps you’ve heard about it?”

  Graham frowned. “Don’t think so.”

  Their footsteps echoed from the buildings and shops they passed. At this hour, shortly after dinnertime, businesses were closed and most people were home.

  “Well.” Julia hesitated, groping for something else. “Then surely you’ve heard of the lawman who came into office after him.” She went on to describe the sheriff’s efforts against a series of robberies that had begun when the railroad first came into Tucson in 1880. “He must be a very popular figure amongst your colleagues.”

  “I’m a bounty hunter, Julia. It’s not a social club.”

  “No. No, of course not. How silly of me.” Drat! What was she going to discuss now? Well, politics always seemed of interest to men. “Um, President Cleveland’s position on Civil War veterans’ pensions is quite controversial, isn’t it?”

  Graham rotated his neck and made an agreeable, if somewhat preoccupied, sound. “Nearly so controversial as the practice of substituting combinations for a chemise and knickers. They might be a novelty now, but—”

  “Mr. Corley!” Aghast, Julia stopped to stare at him. She prayed he could not tell she’d adopted the scandalously modern combinations herself, and found them quite comfortable. “Dis—discussing ladies’ undergarments is simply not done!”

  He paused. Pulled at his necktie, as though it were strangling him. “Then what do you think of needlepoint?”

  She was at a loss for words. Gamely, she dredged up a reply. “I—I think it’s nearly as excellent a pastime as enjoying a fine cigar.” Julia gave him a quizzical look and began walking beside him again. “In fact, I was talking with Mr. Thompson at the mercantile about the newest varieties, and—”

  “You were discussing cigars?”

  “Yes.”

  The bounty hunter shook his head. He seemed taken aback by the whole idea. But he blew out a gusty breath and proceeded to continue their conversation, all the same.

  “’Tis no stranger than me poring over German cologne and brilliantine, I reckon,” Graham mused, inexplicably.

  Near as she could tell, he wore neither cologne nor the oily hair tonic so favored by dandies. Instead, he smelled of soap and clean clothes, tobacco and leather. And his clipped hair brushed his collar in an attractive way that had Julia fairly yearning to touch it. She still remembered the silky, intimate feel of those strands between her fingers.

  However, she had to admit—his comment was no stranger than anything else he’d said tonight.

  As though sharing her befuddlement over the turn their meeting had taken, Mr. Corley fell silent. Slowly, he slid his hand from her elbow to her wrist, then clasped their hands together. The gesture was companionable…and something more.

  Somehow, as they walked Julia felt the gentle abrasion of their palms rubbing together all the way up her arm. The sensation spread, until it seemed her whole body were rhythmically joined with his. The feeling was nearly thrilling enough to make her forget her mission altogether.

  She sighed with pleasure. And, newly motivated, tried again to please him. Gathering her courage, she asked, “Do you know why a frog doesn’t have lips?”

  He burst out laughing. “Julia, now I know something’s afoot. What has you telling bawdy jokes?”

  “I haven’t told it yet!” she huffed. Frustration welled up, and Julia could restrain herself no longer. “How am I to please you, if you won’t begin to let me?”

  “You?” The bounty hunter gawped at her. He stopped in front of the express office, pulling her nearer. “How am I to please you, if you won’t let me?”

  “But you…My dress…I—I wanted—” Awash in confusion, Julia resorted to the first tangible, explainable thing she thought of. Gesturing with her free hand toward her lavender skirts, she said, “I only wore this dress in the first place because you—”

  “’Tis beautiful,” he interrupted quietly. “It couldn’t be anything else, so long as you’re wearing it.” Graham lowered his head so their foreheads nearly touched, and he carefully stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I must have been too bedazzled to tell you so before now.”

  “Oh.” The word escaped her on another sigh. Gazing up at him, Julia allowed herself to abandon her mental checklist of lawmen, desperadoes, cigars and politics, just for a moment. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, shifting into a strangely stiffened position beside her. His hat shadowed his face, its rugged, flat-brimmed style only a little at odds with his new suit. Graham cleared his throat and looked up past the express office’s sign at the sky, where streaks of orange and gold marked the place where the sun had recently set.

  Angling his head, he went on staring skyward. Raptly.

  “Mmmmmph,” he rumbled.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Do you mmmmph?”

  Julia frowned. First, a downright perplexing interest in ladies’ fashions. Now, an inability to speak without sounding as though he had a mouthful of rocks. What next? she wondered.

  “Perhaps we’d better carry onward,” she suggested gently. Now that the time to unveil her surprise had nearly arrived, she was beginning to experience a bit of excitement, mingled with her nervousness. “Everyone will be waiting for us.”

  “Do you like my suit?” Graham bit out. His gaze met hers, unexpectedly vulnerable, then quickly whipped skyward again. “Do you like it?”

  Why, he was nervous, as well! Julia realized with amazement. The same brawny, fearless man who hauled in dangerous criminals to face justice stood before her now with his Adam’s apple bobbing with apprehension. His fingers fairly crushed hers as he waited for her reply.

  “Yes! Yes, I do like it,” she said.

  She stepped nearer, close enough that her skirts brushed agains
t his dark pants legs. A sense of overwhelming tenderness filled her as she gazed up at him, knowing that her opinion mattered as much to him as…as his did to her.

  “I think you look very handsome,” Julia told him, quite seriously. “Like a man to be reckoned with. Strong and certain and very, very masculine. Any woman would be proud to be with you tonight. I know I—”

  “Julia—” His interruption was gravelly, and a wealth of emotion could be heard in that single word.

  “I,” she continued doggedly as she squeezed his hand, “am proud to be with you tonight. Very proud, and happy.”

  Graham’s sudden interest in sunsets vanished. He cleared his throat and set them both into motion again. “You’re right,” he said abruptly. “We’ve lingered here too long.”

  They strode together, hand in hand. More at ease now, Julia recalled Mr. Corley’s approval of the dress she’d chosen especially for him, and savored her remembrance of the heated look in his eyes when he’d told her of it. That was a moment she’d remember forever.

  Amidst her musings, she glanced up. In place of his frequent dangerous glower, Graham now wore an expression of unfocused delight. He smiled, smiled more widely, and smiled wider still, the farther they walked. Before long, his stride was downright jaunty.

  Bennett’s Apothecary and Soda Fountain Emporium loomed at the turn in the street, a mere fifty yards distant. The windows glowed from within, thanks to the newfangled, frightfully expensive gaslights Asa Bennett had installed earlier in the year. Officially, her family’s establishment was closed for the evening…but Julia knew better.

  Mr. Corley’s attention was not for their destination, however, Julia saw when she ducked her head to surreptitiously gauge his reaction. His attention, instead, was for her.

  As though prompted in the moment when their eyes met, he spoke suddenly.

  “Ahhh, Julia. I don’t think this can work.”

  “What?”

  “I thought I could see this through the way you wanted.” Graham glanced around them, as though seeking something, then looked back at her. “I thought the damned suit would make for chivalry to spare. That, or the necktie would strangle any wayward impulses I had.”

  Impossible, Julia thought, for a rogue like him. But she only remained silent, and did her best not to pucker her brow in confusion while he spoke—however befuddling his words were.

  Aunt Geneva insisted extreme facial expressions were unflattering. If there was anything Julia hoped to accomplish this evening, it was to win over her pretend beau’s affections, and make them more real than their “engagement” was. She would not accomplish that with unbecoming wrinkles and puckers.

  “That has not happened,” Graham continued. “Instead—” He paused. Peered at her. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve swallowed a bad-tasting bug.”

  So much for attractive serenity. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not.” The bounty hunter’s dark-eyed gaze swept over her. “I need you, Julia. And I’m not waiting anymore.”

  Before she could take another step, Julia found herself whirled sideways. The tall building-sides of an alleyway rose up around her, and with a surety she might have expected from him but had not, Mr. Corley fairly danced her up against the clapboard side of one of them. Its chill penetrated her lightweight gown, and made her shiver.

  His hands flattened against the wall and caged her in. His stance, bold and masterful, ensured that escape would not work—unless he wished for it to. One look up into his dark-shadowed face, and Julia knew he did not.

  His heat enveloped her. Slowly, and with an air of complete absorption, the bounty hunter leaned nearer. His lips brushed hers, so softly she fancied she’d imagined it.

  The hammering of her heart told her she had not.

  “Kiss me,” Graham demanded. He cupped his hand at the back of her neck, and tilted her face upward. “Kiss me, and I’ll know this confusion was worth it.”

  Julia didn’t ask what he meant. She didn’t need to. She’d felt the same confusion…and now, the same need.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His mouth met hers, a kiss almost savage and entirely sweet. Trembling with the force of it, Julia gave herself to him like a wanton, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer as though she meant to never let him leave her again. She couldn’t help but feel, all at once, as though she’d waited a lifetime for this joining.

  Again and again, Graham took all she had to offer, and gave as much in return. His lips stroked, his tongue delved to sweep against hers, his moan vibrated against her chest. His hands cupped and stroked her, pressing new heat into her hips, her derrière, her waist. Shamelessly, Julia arched against him, and when it was over and he began to pull away, she was having none of it.

  She grabbed his necktie and tugged. “Not yet,” she begged, and lost herself in his arms all over again.

  Finally, finally, he raised his head. His tender expression soothed her, as did his fingers against the nape of her neck. Coming to herself, Julia looked around.

  “Someday,” she said, languidly unable to move, “we really must try this in another position.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “My knees feel near too wobbly to hold me,” she explained.

  His smile turned devilish, and wholly male. “Another position? I think that could be arranged. Purely for the sake of your knees, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He kissed her again. “Soon.”

  The anticipatory gleam in his eyes weakened her knees still further. Feeling short of breath, she let herself sag a little against the building behind her. Really, Julia mused, the bounty hunter had the most exciting effect on her. It was almost as though he sensed what would thrill her most…and then delivered it.

  “You must think me frightfully bold,” she said as she looked down, interlocking her spread fingers to realign her gloves. “And terribly forward, even for a ‘fiancée.”’

  Graham shook his head. “If you cared so much what anyone else thought of you, you would not have lassoed me just now, the way you did.”

  His words struck something inside her. Was it true? Was she coming to rely on her own judgment, rather than making herself daft with wanting to be perfect for those around her?

  If so, it was an unprecedented thing, and all the more unsettling because of it. She wasn’t quite sure her new-found bravery extended so far as that.

  Mr. Corley raised a hand to his necktie, askew from her efforts to tug him nearer. He winked. “I like this free side of you. The side that’s cut loose from your etiquette books, and is bold enough to touch me.”

  “You don’t think it’s…strange of me?” Always before when she’d indulged herself—to read a weighty book, to walk by herself on the mountain trails, to work mathematical theories for the pleasure of discovery alone—someone had ridiculed her. “Unappealing? Un-feminine?”

  Those were words that had been applied to her, however she’d tried to ignore them. Those, and more.

  “Did you want to do it?” he asked, his voice low. “Did you want to touch me?”

  “Truly?”

  He nodded.

  A flush warmed her face. “Yes,” Julia whispered.

  “Then I find it very appealing. And completely feminine.” Giving her a long look, Graham shook his head. Then he gathered her in his arms and held her close. His chin nestled against the top of her head. Inexplicably he sighed, his chest expanding and releasing against her. “To be sure, I don’t understand you a’tall. But I wish you could be happy as you are, and not question things this way.”

  She closed her eyes. All the same, tears prickled there. I want that, too, Julia yearned to say. But it seemed impossible, especially for someone like her. She knew the facts of things too well. And so she only relaxed in his arms and let him hold her, and imagined this security and warmth could be hers forever.

  Graham’s tweed coat rustled as he snuggled her more closely against h
im. Bravely, Julia raised her arms and embraced him, too. Their breathing slowed, combining to a steady rhythm that was both reassuring and intimate. She smelled the lingering astringency of his soap, felt the smooth crispness of his ironed shirt against her cheek.

  With a tender gesture, the bounty hunter stroked his thumb over her temple. His hold felt strong and sure, anchored by broad shoulders and a caring soul. With each passing heartbeat, Julia began to imagine that Graham meant to keep her with him…no matter their differences.

  The alleyway around them seemed to fade away. The rumble of passing wagons grew quiet. All the world narrowed to her, and Mr. Corley, and the togetherness they shared. The sweetest dream could have been no better—nor could it have ended more abruptly.

  “Miss Julia, your pa sent me to bring you to the Emporium,” said a childish voice. “He said to quit spoonin’ with Mr. Corley, and come right quick, before your surprise gets ruin’t.”

  Julia and Graham jerked apart. The delivery boy, Patrick O’Halloran, stood but a few feet away, giving them the impish grin of a child who knew he’d caught his elders at something scandalous. When he spied them looking, he squelched the amusement in his fresh-scrubbed face, but it was too late.

  “Um, thank you, Patrick.” It was impossible to add starch to an acknowledgement when you’d been shamelessly cuddling a moment before, Julia discovered. “We’ll be along directly.”

  She wanted to sink into the ground, to disappear without a trace. If her father had sent Patrick for them, then surely he’d seen everything that had transpired—or at least a goodly portion of it. What would he say?