Too many people, she thought, and for a moment, she felt her confidence slip. To combat the thread of cowardice beginning to unwind inside her, Rachel determinedly stepped off the boardwalk into the mob.
Voices surrounded her. Happy, relaxed. Laughter and whispers, giggles and hushed promises rattled in her wake as she moved through the crowd, looking for Jackson.
They’d hardly seen each other in days. He usually left the store before dawn and stayed late working on the new house. In fact, the past few days had given her a taste of what life would be like for her when he left.
And she didn't much care for it.
"Evening, Miss Rachel," a deep, male voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Hello, Mister Wilde," she nodded to the rancher surrounded by his brood of children.
"You’re looking mighty fine tonight, if you don’t mind my saying so," he told her and ignored the little girl tugging on his coat sleeve.
"Thank you." She pulled the shawl tighter. It was common knowledge that Homer Wilde was in search of a new wife to replace the one who had so thoughtlessly died giving birth to her sixth child.
"Would you like to dance?"
She saw hopeful interest in his eyes and quickly moved to dash it. "Thank you, no," she said politely and started walking, skirting a wide circle around the children.
"I'll see you later," he called after her.
Rachel hurried deeper into the throng of people.
Music swelled into the night, lifted up, and drifted down over the heads of the crowd, drawing them closer to its source.
Two lively fiddles, a guitar, two harmonicas, and the piano borrowed from the saloon for the night made enough noise to be heard clearly over the babble of voices. As Rachel drew nearer, she also heard the sound of dancing feet tapping against a wooden floor.
Jackson’s dance floor.
With his clever design, he’d even managed to make Tessa Horn speechless — an occurrence so rare that it had everyone in town talking about it.
Rachel hugged her shawl more tightly around her. Did he see how well he fit in in Stillwater? Did it bother him that he couldn’t stay? Did he want to stay? With her?
She inhaled sharply and slipped between the last cluster of people separating her from the dance floor. There, she stood and watched, while at the same time, searching the people around her for one face in particular.
Jackson saw her the moment she arrived.
It felt like years since he'd been close enough to look into those blue eyes of hers. To smell the faint scent of flowers that clung to her.
He curled his fingers into his palms until the nails dug into his flesh painfully. It didn’t help. He still wanted to rush across the dance floor, grab her up into his arms, and whirl the night away with her.
"Is that her?"
"Huh?" He shook his head and glanced at the man beside him. About forty, the lumberman looked clean and seemed a sober sort. Once again, Jackson sifted through the information he’d received about the man and reassured himself that he was doing the right thing.
"Yeah," Jackson said, his voice tight. "That's Rachel."
"She's a looker." The man grinned. "Hadn’t expected a pretty woman."
Jackson frowned, then told himself be was being ridiculous. The man would have to be blind not to notice that Rachel was pretty.
"Looks to have a fine figure, too. Like a woman who can fill out a dress."
Jackson’s teeth ground together as his gaze swept over her. Damn it, he should have remembered that she'd be wearing that new dress that he'd ordered for her. The deep, sky blue color suited her, and the soft fabric caressed her figure. When she let her shawl dip, though, Jackson’s jaw dropped. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't seem to help himself.
He didn't recall that neckline being so blasted low.
"Oh my," the man beside him whispered eagerly.
A knot of something in his throat threatened to choke him. Glaring at the other man, he said, "You just mind your manners, mister."
"Uh-huh." Without another word, the man began to move through the crowd toward his goal.
Jackson watched, despite his desire to turn away. When the man approached her, he held his breath. He was doing the right thing. She needed a husband. He needed to get out of Stillwater.
This was the reason he'd been sent here, for God's sake.
To see Rachel married. Happy. Pregnant.
He scowled to himself at the thought of that big lumberman claiming Rachel's body. He tried desperately to shove away mental images of Rachel, naked, opening her arms to another man.
Pain gripped him, and he wondered why it was that a dead man had to suffer such agony.
The lumberman invited her to dance, and Rachel shook her head, refusing.
Swallowing his urge to applaud, Jackson whispered, "It's just a dance, Rachel. Go ahead."
The man kept talking, all the while holding her elbow and trying to pull her onto the floor.
Jackson’s teeth ground together. There was no need for the fella to get pushy.
Rachel looked mad. Then, for some reason, she stopped fighting the man and followed him into the center of the dancing couples.
Jackson craned his neck to watch. A woman with a feather in her hair waltzed past him, and he had an instant's clear view of Rachel and her partner. A grim smile crossed his face quickly. She was holding the man at arm's length despite his protests.
"Good girl," he murmured, then caught himself.
It wasn't good. She'd never get married if she kept possible suitors at bay with a steely look and a stiff arm.
Surprisingly light on his feet, the big lumberman started guiding Rachel around the crowded floor, and Jackson was forced to shift from side to side to keep an eye on them. Rachel didn't look any happier than he felt, but he hadn’t expected her to. At least, not at first. Eventually, she would see that this was all for the best.
He only hoped he would.
The lumberman pulled her closer, wrapping his thick, muscled arm around her waist. His open hand drifted slowly downward.
"Here now," Jackson muttered and took a half step forward.
Rachel pushed at her dance partner, but couldn't break away.
"What the hell is he up to?" Jackson grumbled thickly as he stepped up onto the edge of the dance floor to see over the crowd.
The lumberman pulled her tightly to him and looked straight down the front of her dress.
"Just wait a damned minute, here," Jackson said aloud and the youngster beside him said, "Huh?"
Rage rushed through Jackson’s bloodstream like a skyrocket with a short fuse. The man's gaze seemed locked on Rachel’s breasts, and just the thought of his eyes feasting on her was enough to stir Jackson’s temper to the boiling point.
"Who the hell does he think he is?" he asked no one in particular as Rachel gasped and shoved at the man holding her. "Damn his eyes, I told him to mind his manners."
Before he'd finished speaking, Jackson was moving through the crowd, pushing his way toward the couple. It was like trying to run underwater. No matter how hard he tried, he seemed to make little progress. .When he was close enough, he heard the man say, "Come on honey, just a little kiss."
"Let go of me," she demanded.
"What’re you being so fussy about?" The lumberman dipped his head, trying for that kiss. She avoided him neatly. "It ain't like you're some sweet young thing sittin' in her mama's parlor."
Close, Jackson thought. So close. Then a couple swung in front of him, and he was cut off.
When the path was clear again, he hurried forward, in time to see Rachel lift one foot and bring it down hard on the big man's instep. The big lumberman howled in pain, and Rachel pushed away from him.
Fury still pounding through him, Jackson rushed the taller man. He didn't even hear the voices calling to him, questioning him. All he could see was the man who had dared to touch Rachel. Fisting one hand, he slammed it into the lumberman’s jaw and felt the jarring
, satisfying thud all the way up his arm.
The man staggered, then fell to the floor, unfortunately taking one of the other couples down with him.
The music droned to a stop and around them, the dancers formed a curious circle. But Jackson didn't see them. He didn’t hear the stunned silence. All he heard was the thunderous roar in his ears.
Standing over the fallen man, feet planted wide, fists ready, he said, "Get up you sonofabitch so I can knock you down again."
The lumberman rubbed his aching jaw, then said, "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Maybe so," he snarled. "But you touch her again and I'll kill you."
"Jackson-" Rachel grabbed his arm, but he shook her off.
"You stay the hell away from her, you understand me?"
The man on the floor shook his head and started scooting backward, moving right over the couple he'd knocked down. The outraged woman took a swing at him and missed.
"What'd he do, Jackson?" Sam called as he pushed his way through the crowd to stand beside his friend. "He get fresh?"
"Never mind," Jackson told him, only now becoming aware of the people surrounding him.
A few more men stepped forward to take up positions behind Sam and Jackson. Rachel watched the battle lines forming and knew she had to stop this before it went any further. She wasn't going to stand still and watch a brawl in her honor. Tugging on his arm again, she said, "Jackson, would you take me home?"
Several long seconds ticked by before she was sure he heard her. Then she felt the hard muscles in his arm relax slowly. Never taking his eyes off his opponent, Jackson covered her hand with one of his own, then glanced at Sam. "Get him out of here," he said quietly.
"You heard the man." Sam said to the men behind him and as one, they moved forward to scoop the lumberman off the floor. The crowd parted for them, and while everyone watched their progress, Jackson led Rachel from the dance floor to an isolated, shadowy corner near the schoolhouse.
"Are you all right?" he demanded and just managed to keep from running his hands up and down her form to reassure himself.
"I'm fine."
"Damn him anyway," he muttered, then took her hand firmly in his. "Come on, I'll take you home."
She pulled her hand back and stood her ground. "I don’t want to go home yet."
"But you said —"
"I wanted to get off that dance floor before it turned into a battlefield."
"Oh." He sucked in a gulp of cool, night air, hoping that the chill would take care of the last of his temper.
"I wonder who he was?" Rachel said with a quick glance over her shoulder. "I don't think I’ve ever seen him before."
"He works at some lumber camp outside town."
Slowly, thoughtfully, she turned back to look up at him. It was too dark to read his expression. "How do you know that?"
"Shit."
"Jackson." A horrible notion leaped up in her brain. She didn’t want to think it of him, but why else would a perfect stranger take such liberties in front of a town full of witnesses? "You sent him to me?"
"Rachel…"
"You did." She shook her head and mumbled, "I can't believe this."
"I didn’t know he was going to act like that."
"So that makes it all right?" She drew her shawl up high on her shoulders, fisted her hands in it, and paced back and forth in front of him. "You didn't know he would try to maul me, so it's all right that you sent him after me?"
"That’s why I'm here, Rachel," he reminded her, but she cut him off before he could go on.
"I know. To find me a husband." She stopped a foot away from him and stared at him. "Apparently, just any man will do. So long as he’s breathing, is that right, Jackson?"
"No," he snapped and sounded every bit as angry as she felt.
"Well, your requirements can't be too harsh, if he passed muster."
"That one slipped by me, I admit," Jackson muttered. "Next time, it'll be different."
"There won’t be a next time."
"Rachel we've been over this a hundred times."
"And nothing's changed."
"That 's right. Nothing's changed. You still have to have a husband."
"Fine." Rachel inhaled sharply and in the darkness didn’t see Jackson’s gaze lock onto the swell of her breasts. "Then I believe I've come up with the solution to both our problems."
Wariness tinged his voice as he asked, "Yeah? What is it?"
She swallowed heavily. The completely logical idea that had occurred to her only the day before now seemed, well, less than logical. Rachel knew he wouldn’t like it. But as far as she could see, this was the only way they could both be happy.
At least for a while.
Battling back the swarms of butterflies chasing each other around the pit of her stomach, Rachel drew a deep breath and blurted it out.
"You marry me, Jackson."
#
Charlie walked slowly through the crowd, distinctly aware of the small hand resting on his arm. He covered those tiny fingers with his own hand and felt a rush of delight race through him. He could hardly believe it. Miss Hester Sutton stepping out with him. The people they passed smiled and nodded, apparently not surprised in the least to see a big dumb lumberjack walking arm in arm with a schoolteacher.
But Charlie knew the truth. He knew how lucky he’d gotten all of a sudden and he was determined to go on being lucky.
At the edge of the dance floor, he stopped, looked down at her, and apologized ahead of time. "I'm not much of a dancer, Hester."
She smiled shyly and dipped her head. "I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice myself, Charlie."
His chest swelled with pride. He loved to hear her say his name. "If you're willin’ to take a chance," he said, "I’ll try not to step on your toes."
"I’d love to."
He grinned again, despite the fact that he knew he must look like an idiot. It seemed all he did these days was walk around with a big smile on his face. Stepping onto the raised platform, he paused to help her up.
"Hey, Miss Sutton," a young voice popped up out of nowhere, and Charlie glanced down to see a young boy with strawberry blond hair hanging down into his eyes.
"Good evening, Billy," Hester said, still holding onto Charlie's hand.
The boy tilted his head up and looked from his teacher to the big man beside her and back again. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, squinted at his teacher and asked, "This your beau?"
Charlie held his breath.
Hester turned to look up at him. A soft, slow smile curved her lips. "Yes, Billy. This is my beau, Charlie Miller."
Pent-up breath rushed out of his lungs, and he felt himself grinning again as he held out one hand toward the boy. When the child slipped his fingers into Charlie’s huge grip, he looked at his teacher again. "He's a big one, ain't he?"
"Isn't he," Hester corrected instinctively. Then, surprising herself as well as her student, she bent down to meet his gaze and gave him a wide, happy smile. "Yes," she agreed. "He surely is. See you Monday, Billy. Have a good time."
"Yes'm," the boy muttered and watched as his teacher sailed off across the dance floor in the arms of man as big as the mountains. He’d never seen Miss Sutton really smile before. She almost looked… pretty. Billy straightened up and looked around guiltily as if afraid of being caught thinking nice things about a teacher, of all people. Then he raced off to get more lemonade, dismissing all thoughts of teachers and school until Monday.
#
One second passed. Then another.
Muted sounds of music and chatter drifted to them, but weren’t strong enough to break the silence stretching out between them.
Rachel waited impatiently for his reaction. Even though she was fairly certain just what it would be. At first, anyway. Then Jackson spoke and confirmed it.
"That fella was wrong," he said quietly. "I’m not crazy. You are."
"I knew you would say something like that."
"Jesus
Rachel," he said, taking a step away from her, as if a little distance would help, then immediately he came back again. Reaching for her, he held her shoulders firmly, but gently, and gave her a little shake. "Why are you doing this?"
"It would work, Jackson. It would."
"How in the hell could it work, woman? I'm a ghost!"
She shivered, and he felt the tremors ripple through her. Belying her nervousness, her voice was quiet, but steady. "You may be a ghost, but you're as alive as any other man now. You breathe. You eat. You sleep. You… kiss," she finished softly.
That kiss. Damn, he’d known that was a mistake the moment their lips had met. Yet, even now when he could see how much pain that kiss would continue to cause, he couldn't regret it.
Just the memory of those few stolen moments would help make eternity bearable. Now, he thought, he would also have this. The fact that she wanted to marry him. God Almighty, why hadn't any of this happened to him when he could have done something about it? Why did it all have to come now when the pain was as sharp as the pleasure?
"Rachel, I'm only as alive as Lesley lets me be. It won't last forever."
"But you're here now." Her voice broke. "With me."
"Don't do this," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't do it to either one of us."
"I have to try, Jackson."
"Ah dammit, Rachel," he groaned and pulled her to him.
She leaned into him, and his arms closed around her. For one brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that her idea would work. In his mind's eye, he saw it all. Working with Sam, coming home to Rachel every evening, and even being a father to those four kids that Lesley had talked about. He imagined waking up beside her in the morning and kissing her good morning. He envisioned lazy afternoons and long, quiet nights.
For one shining moment, it was so real he could almost hear their children laughing. And for that one moment, he was happy.
Really happy, for the first time.
He held her tight, reveling in the feel of her arms wrapped about his waist. He felt her heartbeat quicken against his chest and her legs press along his. His hands smoothed up and down her back, his fingertips dusting across the dozens of buttons along her spine. The urge to undo those buttons and feel her naked flesh beneath his hands came swift and hard. His body responded instantly, and Jackson bit back another groan.
Still Close to Heaven Page 20
