Printer in Petticoats

by Lynna Banning

  Halfway through rehearsal of the first chorus, Jess gave a little gasp and swayed toward him. He snaked an arm around her waist to steady her.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “Dizzy,” she breathed.

  “You wearing a corset?”

  “Oh.” She clapped her hands to her flushed cheeks. “I forgot.”

  He bent toward her and murmured, “Go take it off before you faint,” he murmured. And he’d try not to imagine what she was doing while she was doing it.

  The director’s arms fell to her sides, and the choir lapsed into silence. “What is going on in the back row?” she demanded.

  Jessamine froze.

  “Miss Lassiter, uh, picked up a stone in her shoe,” Cole said smoothly.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, go and get rid of it!”

  Jessamine blinked. It was the first time she had ever heard Ellie Johnson lose her temper. Now that she thought about it, at the previous rehearsal the marshal’s wife had looked quite pale and queasy.

  Her journalist’s nose twitched. She knew it! Ellie was expecting. Cole would have no clue about the director’s coming confinement until the marshal and his wife announced it in the Sentinel. That, she gloated, would be a scoop. The Lark editor himself wouldn’t care, being a man, but her subscribers would relish the story.

  Cole gave her a little nudge. Woozy and a bit short of breath because she’d laced the forbidden corset up too tight, she edged through the soprano section and bolted for the anteroom. How embarrassing that he had known what she was wearing underneath her clothes! The man’s sharp eyes missed nothing.

  And his ears were just as acute. His knack for digging out news stories left her limp with envy. And admiration. If only ladies were allowed in the saloon! That was where the men of the town gathered to talk over events. In the newspaper business it was a great disadvantage to be a woman.

  She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t beaten yet. She could show Cole Sanders a few things about gathering news in Smoke River. After all, men didn’t get invited to gossipy ladies tea parties.

  She sighed. But men—one man in particular—did get a woman all flustered just because they—he—touched her.

  The following morning Cole and two men from the sawmill hefted Jess’s rolltop desk and the apple crates loaded up with her files back across the street into the newly refurbished Sentinel office. The place smelled of fresh wood and paint, and her Adams press was disassembled on the floor, awaiting a thorough cleaning, but she was home!

  She raced up the stairs to admire the new curtains Verena Forester had sewed for her, a rose-pink calico banded in cream lace. Double-lined. She flung them open to check the view.

  Somehow the fact that Cole’s bedroom window still faced hers didn’t bother her as much now, even though she knew he had spied on her at night. It was hard to stand next to him at rehearsals and sing the beautiful, soaring Handel arias and not feel the pull of an invisible bond between them.

  On the last trip from Cole’s office, Eli packed up his type sticks and the new font case he’d fashioned out of fruit crates, and Noralee threw her skinny arms around him and snuffled against his shirt.

  “I don’t want you to go, Mr. Holst. You teach me things, and you make me laugh.”

  “Aw, honey-girl…” Eli’s watery blue eyes looked even more watery. Watching them, Jess felt a lump in her throat the size of a ripe plum.

  “You come visit me at the Sentinel, why don’tcha?” Eli said. “On Thursdays I bake cookies for my lunch. You like oatmeal cookies?”

  Jess was packing up the last of the newsprint Cole had given her when she caught sight of him standing by his desk with an odd look on his face. Solemnly he extended his hand.

  “Good luck over there, Jess. And, Eli, you be sure and keep that revolver handy.”

  Eli gave him a two-fingered salute, then lumbered out the door and across the street to the Sentinel.

  Jess extended her hand to Cole, intending to give his a businesslike shake, just as two professional people should. But at the last minute she stretched up and kissed his cheek instead.

  “Oh, Jess…” he said. “This has been an experience, hasn’t it? Unforgettable. I hope you’ll miss me—I mean Noralee and me.”

  Once Jess had closed the door of her repainted office, it seemed awfully quiet. No metal type clicking. No giggles from Noralee or muttering from Eli’s corner. And no sound of Cole’s boots tramping about his office.

  She’d never thought she would miss it, but she did.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By Christmas Eve, Jess felt more muddled than ever about Cole Sanders, and when he walked across the street to escort her to the music hall, she found herself excited not only about their performance of the Messiah but about the prospect of standing within touching distance of him the entire time.

  The evening was clear and frosty, with stars sparkling like diamonds against a blue velvet sky. One streaked toward earth, leaving a silvery path, and she made a wish, then wondered at herself for being so foolish. She had everything she wanted in life, did she not? She had her newspaper back, and even though she supposed that made her attractive to the male population in town, she had never felt even a spark of interest in any potential suitors. Long ago she had decided never to marry. No one but herself would ever have control over her newspaper.

  And Cole? What about Cole? He was the only man she’d ever met who made her breath come short and her heart thrum under her breastbone.

  The truth was she didn’t know about Cole. She knew only that when she was near him, it made her…well, want something.

  Cole turned up the collar of his sheepskin jacket against the cold and slipped her hand into his. “Everybody in town will be there tonight,” he remarked. “You nervous?”

  “Just a bit. Are you?”

  He barked out a laugh. “Let’s just say this isn’t like singing ‘Clementine’ in the bathtub.”

  Jess smiled up at him. “Actually, with all those people in the choir singing along with you, this should be a good deal easier than singing ‘Clementine.’”

  They walked into the recital hall and Jess caught her breath. Every single seat was occupied, and people were standing along the walls and at the back of the room. Suddenly she was more than a bit nervous; a brigade of butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

  The choir members warmed up in the small, oak-paneled rehearsal room and then marched two by two into the hall and took their places on the plank risers Ike Bruhn had constructed.

  Cole took one look at the sea of faces before them and groaned.

  “Take a deep breath,” Jessamine whispered.

  The director entered, wearing a flared black wool skirt and a lacy white shirtwaist, and took her place. Her husband, Matt Johnson, lounging against the back wall, gave her a thumbs-up.

  Ellie turned to the choir, smiled at them and lifted her arms. An expectant hush fell over the audience and Jess heard Cole suck in his breath.

  As the first lush opening chord sounded, gasps of surprise erupted from the listeners. The townspeople had never heard anything like a performance of the Messiah. She knew they would be entranced. A thrill of anticipation washed over her.

  The voices of the choir rose in harmony. “‘And the glory, the glory of the Lord…’” An indefinable current of something ran through the singers, and suddenly a soaring rush of emotion took hold of her.

  Tears stung her eyes. The music they were making was more than mere notes; it was an expression of human solidarity, of oneness. Jess thought her heart would burst.

  How beautiful this is. How extraordinary to be part of this otherworldly creation that transcends all our differences.

  When the chorus sang the next anthem, “For unto us a child is born,” her entire body began to tremble. Next came the quartet aria, “Behold, and see if there be any sorrow.”

  Their performance was better than she could have dreamed, exquisitely nuanced and deeply felt
. Prickles began to run up her arms.

  Last came the final anthem, the Hallelujah chorus. Cole subtly adjusted his stance so his arm touched hers, and instinctively she moved closer to him. His warmth flooded her entire body. At the final crescendo, Jess felt their individual selves meet and touch, and her chest swelled with a sweet, sharp joy.

  When the final chord sounded, the singers stood motionless, without breathing, and the listeners in the room sat in stunned silence.

  Ellie’s smile was tremulous. Well done, she mouthed at them.

  And then pandemonium broke out. The audience rose to its feet and shouted and clapped, threw their arms around their neighbors and cheered themselves hoarse.

  Cole touched Jess’s hand, and she turned to find moisture shining in his eyes. Her heart swam up into her throat.

  They walked back to the Sentinel building in silence, unwilling to break the spell. At the entrance, Jess spied something leafy and green suspended over the door on a wide red ribbon.

  “Mistletoe!” she exclaimed. “Eli must have hung it up after I left.”

  Cole nodded. “Good man, Eli.” He would personally shake the old man’s hand the next time he saw him.

  Jess sidestepped away from the door, but he grasped her shoulders and jostled her back under the bunch of greenery.

  Before she could protest he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Mercy, her lips were sweet, like warm honey on a frosty morning. He thought the top of his head would explode, and suddenly alarm bells went off. But after another long, searching kiss, he stopped listening.

  “God, Jess,” he breathed against her mouth. “What are we doing?”

  “No one has ever kissed me like that,” she said in a shaky whisper.

  “How come?”

  She hesitated. “No one has ever kissed me at all, except a boy at school when I was twelve.”

  “And what happened when he did?”

  “My brother Miles tackled him in the schoolyard and bloodied his nose.”

  Cole laughed and pulled her close, resting his chin against her hair. They stood that way for a long time until he lifted his head and cupped her face between his two hands. Oh, God, he wanted her. He ached with desire.

  “Jess?”

  “Yes, Cole? My goodness, you look serious. Do you want some of Eli’s whiskey?”

  He ignored her question. “I guess I’m looking serious because I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing.”

  “You’re kissing me,” she said with a soft laugh.

  “I thought that was obvious.”

  “It is, yes.”

  “Jess…” He hesitated. “Do you want to continue this?” His voice was unsteady.

  “How do you mean?”

  Dammit, how could he say this? “I think you know how I mean.”

  She said nothing for so long he thought she hadn’t heard him, but he didn’t have guts enough to repeat it. What she finally said surprised him.

  “Cole, is my bed bigger than yours?”

  He jerked upright. “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said. I want to know what you meant by it.”

  She cleared her throat. “If I remember correctly from the night of the fire, you sleep on a narrow cot.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She hesitated. “Don’t you want to know why I asked?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I can guess.”

  Jess thought she must have gone plain crazy, but she didn’t care. Being close to Cole, feeling his arms around her, his mouth on hers, was wonderful beyond her wildest dreams.

  God help me, I am in love with this man.

  Well, there it was, the thing she’d been trying not to think about ever since the night of the fire. She was falling in love with the editor of her rival newspaper.

  “Jess, what are we really talking about here?”

  “We’re talking about a wonderful, magical thing that is happening on a beautiful night,” she said, a smile in her voice.

  “You sure you know what you’re saying?”

  “Hush, Cole. Hush. Let’s go inside.”

  Once inside he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Look at me, Jess. You’re sure about this?”

  “I am sure. I’m surprised at myself, but I am sure. More than sure. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I want whatever happens between us to matter.”

  She gazed into his eyes and he felt his head go fuzzy. “It matters, Cole. You matter.”

  He kissed her, then lifted his head with a groan. “I can stop now if you say so. Later, it might not be so easy.”

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  He lifted her into his arms and climbed the stairs. In her bedroom he set her on her feet and cupped her face in his hands. “We don’t have to go any further, Jess.”

  “But I want to,” she whispered. She laid her hands over his and lifted them to her shoulders, reached both arms about his neck and pulled his head down to hers. “I’ve never wanted to before, with anyone, but tonight is different.”

  “What’s different about tonight?”

  “You. Being with you.”

  He exhaled heavily. “Oh, Lord, Jess. I don’t know how we got here, but I don’t want to stop what is happening. I—”

  She stopped his words with her lips. He wrapped his arms around her and after a long moment she lifted her head and drew in a shaky breath. “I want to be with you tonight, Cole. All night.”

  He didn’t say anything for a full minute, and then he scooped her up, set her on the edge of the bed, and knelt before her. He slipped both her shoes off, lifted the hem of her skirt and carefully rolled down her stockings. “I’ve wondered about your feet,” he said.

  She jerked her bare foot out of his grasp. “My feet! What about them?”

  Cole spread his warm fingers over her arch. “They’re beautiful. Small and perfect. I thought they would be because your hands are small and fine-boned. I figured your feet would be, too.”

  He rose and settled himself on the bed beside her.

  “Something else I’ve wondered about,” he said, reaching for the top button of her shirtwaist.

  She gave a soft laugh. “You mean you thought about my…? Really?”

  He made a sound low in his throat. “Sometimes a whole day goes by and all I’ve done is think about your breasts. Does that shock you?”

  “Yes, it’s a surprise,” she said. “I never realized that a man…well, that his thoughts would…”

  “Yeah, his thoughts sure would.” He undid the top button, pressed his mouth to her collarbone and undid three more buttons. Then he bent his head, kissed the bare skin above her camisole and slipped his hand inside.

  “You smell good,” he murmured. “Sweet, like…violets, maybe.”

  “You smell like woodsmoke. And peppermint.”

  He didn’t answer, just continued unbuttoning her blouse and pressing his lips against the exposed skin. “You like peppermint?”

  “I like the way you smell. And I, um, I like what you’re doing now.”

  “Thank God,” he breathed. “Because this is only the beginning.”

  “Oh?” she murmured. “What comes next?”

  He thought he heard a smile in her voice, but he wasn’t sure. “This.” He spread her shirtwaist, slipping it down off her shoulders. “Take it off, Jess.”

  When she shrugged out of it, he reached for the ribbon of her camisole. “And this.”

  “Shall I take it off?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He watched as she pulled the loosened garment over her head.

  “My God, you are beautiful,” he breathed. She sent him a smile, and he rose, stripped off his shirt and winter undershirt, unhooked the leather belt at his waist and toed off his boots. When he looked up she had paused with her hands at the waistband of her skirt.

  “Shall I?” she whispered. At his nod, she unhooked the garment
and let it slide to the floor.

  “Should I take off my petticoats?”

  Another nod.

  “And then there’s my—”

  “Jess, stop talking. Just do what I do.”

  He let his trousers drop to the floor and waited while she untied her petticoat, two petticoats, he noted, a white one with lots of ruffles and another one of soft red flannel.

  She looked at him expectantly and he had to laugh. He didn’t doubt that she knew how to take off her underclothes; he guessed she was debating whether she should or not. Or maybe when. He stripped off his drawers, kicked them out of the way and waited.

  Her petticoats floated to the floor. Her last undergarment was a pair of the laciest pantalets he’d ever seen, and she hesitated so long he thought he’d go mad. He moved in close, put his hands at her waist and pulled the lacy thing down to her ankles. He heard her suck in her breath.

  Gently he pulled her against him and smoothed his hands over her silky rounded bottom. “You are really, really beautiful, Jess.”

  She pressed her palms against his chest. “You feel strong. Solid.”

  He laughed quietly. “You feel damn soft.” He lifted her off her feet. “Come to bed with me.” He walked her backward until her legs touched the bed, tipped her onto the quilt and followed her down.

  He grazed one warm, bare breast with his lips, then returned to gently suck the swollen nipple. Her sudden intake of breath told him all he needed to know. He lifted his head to blow gently in her ear, then swirled his tongue into the shell.

  Her breathing hitched and she tightened her arms around him. “Oh,” she sighed. “Everything you are doing feels wonderful.”

  He did it again and smiled when he heard her whisper another soft “Oh.”

  That told him what she liked, and he licked and nuzzled and kissed his way on a leisurely path down to her navel. When he heard her soft moan, he moved farther, until he reached the soft curls at her apex, and he paused.

  “Yes,” Jess heard herself whisper. “Don’t stop.” This is exquisite. Her whole body burned as if it were on fire, and she found herself hungry for his touch, his mouth. His tongue was doing magical things to her aching flesh. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  Heavens above, I would do anything, anything, to keep this from ever ending.