by Ali Olson
She raised one eyebrow, her lips curving deeper into a smile that set his blood afire. “You named your horse after a Shakespearean character?”
She was smiling because of him. He definitely liked the feeling that accompanied that knowledge, and he wanted more of it. “Of course. Shakespeare invented remarkable names. Why should I need to devise new ones? I had one horse named Mercutio, but I sold him before I traveled West. His new owner was very confused.”
Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes sparkling with laughter. Yes, he liked this woman underneath the mask.
He had never fallen in love before, but he now had a guess as to what it felt like.
Chapter Three
Alice laughed helplessly as Thomas went through the variety of Shakespearean-themed names he had given animals, along with the personalities that prompted them. How on Earth did he know all these plays? As if in answer to her internal question, he shrugged after finishing the litany. “My farm in Missouri is small. I have plenty of time to read in the evening, and I’ve had an affinity for Shakespeare plays since I figured out that they were actually funny and rather… well, more scandalous than one would expect. As a boy, that was very important.”
She blushed slightly. Shakespeare could be quite suggestive as she well knew, which was one of her favorite things about him. Students so rarely found the dry required texts interesting, and there was no way she could see of getting more mature books which they might enjoy into their hands. Sometimes she wished there was some way to help the older boys become aware of the literature available to them. In her mind, if it would keep them reading, then it would be worth it. She was certain anything of that sort would be by far the largest disagreement between her and the school board to date, and would likely end with a call for her resignation. She could almost see Mr. Wilson’s disapproving expression.
Alice looked up at the man across the table from her. His eyes were fixed on her, and she imagined him replaying some of the more bawdy sections in his head with her as the main character, with their brief kiss as inspiration. That thought only made her picture a few choice scenes herself. Uncomfortable, and more aroused than she would like by the idea, she knew it was time to change the subject. “You own a farm?”
“Yes. I don’t have much, just a few goats and a patch of land, but it has been good to me. Our parents died when we had just come of age and money was scarce, you see, so Emily and I needed to break out on our own.” He gestured around. “She did very well, but my small place has been enough. It keeps me going.”
Her heart dropped a little. He was speaking about his farm in present tense, as if it was still his home. Despite her promise to herself not to get involved with this man, and the reasonable voice inside that knew it was best if he left Shasta, she could not help but want him to stay. “So you shan’t be settling here, then?”
He smirked, and she realized how obvious her statement had been. Would she ever stop blushing around this man? She attempted an explanation that made her seem less of a lovesick youth. “Joe has lived here a long time. The change could be difficult for him.”
She could tell her attempt at deception failed, but at least he was gentlemanly enough not to mention it. “I have yet to sell it, but another family is staying there now. Their home burnt down some weeks before I came out here, and they are living at my place while they rebuild, though it will take a long time before they are able. That’s why I attempted the long trek out here, actually—it was quite crowded with the six of them and myself, so I decided to take the opportunity to visit my sister. It had been so long since we’d seen each other that it seemed an ideal chance.”
He broke off, and she could almost read the thoughts he held back. That she would be alive had he not come, that he was guilty of her death. It broke her heart to see the remorse etched on his brow.
She very much wished this chance to speak privately had never come about. Every additional moment only improved her opinion of him, and that certainly was not good for her. She had never thought it possible she could find an astonishingly handsome, intelligent man who read Shakespeare when he wasn’t busy helping his neighbors or traveling across the country to visit his sister and care for his nephew, nor one that pulled at her heartstrings as he did. It was already leading her to complicated thoughts that she would rather not have running through her head.
Luckily, she was smart enough to know that when people seemed too good to be true, it was often the case that they were far less than the façade promised. She had been hurt before by a man who appeared wonderful in too many ways, and she would never drop her guard like that again.
His voice cut through her thoughts. “How did you end up out here, Alice? You don’t sound like a woman that was raised in the mining camps around here. Your accent is not from California, but it’s difficult to guess any more than that.”
She noticed his use of her first name. It was the first time he had done that, and it sent a little thrill down her spine, though she knew it was inappropriate and she should not allow those kinds of feelings to course through her in such a way. She should not even allow it to go unmentioned.
Then she thought about what he had actually asked her, which made her spine tingle again, but this time with anxiety. She had no desire to discuss her past—not with anyone. But she knew it would be odd to leave the question unanswered. She decided to say as little as possible. “I am from Vermont. I lived there most of my life, before I came to Shasta.”
She hoped that would be enough to close the subject, but he leaned forward, interested, and her spirit sank lower. “And you moved out here alone?”
She nodded, hoping that would be enough. His brows contracted together as if he was puzzled. “A young woman traveling across the country all by herself… that is quite unexpected. What prompted you to do that?”
He was perceptive. This could definitely be a problem. She disliked lying, but he was pushing her to the point where she had very little choice. She chose her words with care, choosing the safest responses that were also technically true. “I wanted to teach out West, and I was tired of life over there. The winters were too cold.”
She begged, shouting the thoughts at him, as if that would help, that he would ask nothing more about her decision to travel alone. He seemed to consider asking another question about it, then shrugged, and she felt her stress lessen. She hoped she would be safe from any interrogations that she might not be able to face honestly.
“What made you want to become a teacher?” he asked.
It wasn’t a perfect question, but it was different enough to allow her to avoid a lie. “I love learning, I guess. I had several tutors when I was young, and I always noticed when one topic was interesting to me and another was not, and my reflections showed that it often had more to do with the tutor than the subject. And I have always loved children. I think I was born to teach.”
She had not expected to say so much, but his open look and curious gaze invited confidence. He tilted his head slightly as she finished, and asked, “Private tutors? Your family must have been quite wealthy.”
Dangerous territory again. Why hadn’t she continued only responding with short answers? She just nodded.
“Were they unhappy when you packed up and moved out West to teach?”
She laughed involuntarily, nodding again. He had no idea how right he was on that score.
He chuckled, too, infected by her amusement, and her heart danced a little. She felt pulled to him, as worrisome as that was, but she couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the moment. Then his eyes turned serious, almost pleading, and he asked, “If you love children so much, why have you not married and had any yourself?”
The air around her seemed to warm and thicken until it was difficult to breathe. She had wanted children. So very much. But things did not go as she had planned, and she faced the consequences of that every day. She answered, her words slow and halting. “I… have not found the right man with whom to have them, I s
uppose.” Truer words were never spoken.
The way his eyes bore into her made her feel naked, vulnerable. The air was still thick and tight in her throat. She could feel his thoughts emanating from him as if they raked across her skin.
If she were smart, she would get up and ask to be taken home. It was not a good idea to be around this man any more than necessary. Especially when they were alone and he was staring at her like that. Even just going to check on Joe would be a valid excuse to escape his sensual scrutiny of her face and body. Despite her clear escape routes, though, she took none of them.
She liked the way he was looking at her, if she was honest. It sent pleasant trills of sensation through her body, warming a spot low in her belly. She pushed aside the worries and fears, if even for only a few moments, and allowed the pleasure of the moment to fill her. Their eyes locked, and she studied the mix of blues, losing herself in them. The silence between them stretched, curling around them.
She was allowed to enjoy the rush of feelings, she decided, so long as she never forgot herself or the lessons she had learned all those years ago. There was nothing wrong with enjoying oneself if one did not let it get out of hand.
She knew she was lying to herself, playing with fire, but she gladly ignored the truth, in the same way she often convinced herself that if she read for a half hour, she would then spend hours grading compositions, despite knowing that the compositions would sit untouched the rest of the evening. This was a far better guilty pleasure than a few hours’ reading.
After what must have been ages, he finally spoke. “I like you, Miss Crenshaw. You are a very interesting woman.”
His tone was light, but his voice had a deep and husky quality that had not been there before. It was impossible to accept what he said as a friendly compliment—he meant much more, and they both knew it.
She broke the eye contact, looking down at her uneaten meal. She picked up her fork, even though her body was demanding plenty of things, none of which was food. She wondered what he would do if she walked around the table and kissed him, this time a long, lingering, carnal kiss.
She shoved a large bite of chicken into her mouth to distract her mind and busy her mouth. Apparently it was too large, though, because it lodged in the back of her throat, making her choke for a moment. To her chagrin, she found herself sitting in front of this man she was just considering kissing, coughing and spluttering uncontrollably.
Well, at least it solved the problem of him being attracted to her, she thought, frustrated, as she tried to stop the coughing fit. That was when his hand pressed against her back, warm and soothing.
She jumped and nearly began choking again. At some point during her brief attack, he had moved around the table and was now sitting next to her, one hand offering her a glass of water as the other rubbed the spot between her shoulders.
“Here,” he said, nodding at the proffered liquid.
She grabbed it and sipped until her cough diminished. She was thankful for his kindness, embarrassed about how silly she must have looked, and very aware of the heat spreading from his hand across her back and throughout the rest of her body.
It was too much. She put her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands, sighing. “I think I should go.”
“But I don’t want you to go.”
His voice, low and so close to her ear she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, made goose bumps rise on her arms. She dropped her hands and turned to look at him, her heart pounding furiously.
His face was just inches from hers, his blue eyes dark and focused on her as if he was looking inside her mind. She held her breath, waiting, hoping he would try to kiss her again, willing him to.
Before he could do so, though, she leaned in of her own accord, softly brushing her lips against his, making fire rush through her veins. The action was as much a surprise to her as the first touch of their lips on the top of the stairs had been, only this time she was the one who had initiated it. He responded instantly, deepening the kiss, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as his hand rubbed along her jawline, cupping her neck.
She reveled in the feel of his mouth against hers, nearly trembling from the sensations that gripped her body. She wrapped her arm around his neck, pressing even harder against him, allowing her tongue to explore, small explosions of passion blasting through her with each touch of hers against his.
The fingers of one of his hands curled around the back of her neck as the other worked its way down her neck, drifting slowly along her collarbone and cupping one breast. She realized what was happening and where this could lead, and the danger of the situation screamed into her mind, forcing Alice to listen, however little she wanted to. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes sprung open and she pulled away and stood up, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste.
What was she thinking? She could lose her employment if anyone found out she had done anything remotely close to this, not to mention losing her heart and her self-respect, which would both take much longer to regain. She needed to get out of the presence of this man, and her reluctance to do so was the strongest reason that it was so important.
Alice took a deep, shaky breath. She had known she was playing with fire, and the kiss had only made it more clear how very dangerous that was. And if she waited another minute, she feared she would find herself scorched from it. “Thomas—Mr. Lancaster—I think it is best if I leave. Now.”
The smile that had started when she said his name disappeared as he heard the rest of the sentence. He wrinkled his brow, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him and smooth it out again. But she stood her ground, although she had to grab the back of the chair for support in order to do so.
He seemed confused, but he nodded and stood up without speaking. Her heart twisted as she waited for him to say something angry, to show annoyance, but he simply accepted her words without question, despite the fact that she was the one who initiated the kiss. She almost wished he would argue with her. Instead, he said, “I shall get the buggy ready.”
She followed as he walked to the door, wanting to say something but with no idea what. She was even more dumbfounded, however, when he opened the door, froze for a moment, then started laughing in rich loud notes that rolled over her pleasantly. The response was so unexpected, she could not react except to stare at him.
He looked back at her, grinning, and announced that it was raining.
She could see it was raining—they often had sudden showers in May and it was to be expected—but did not understand his humor until he shrugged and continued. “The buggy has no top, and there is no carriage on the property. We have no choice but to wait until the weather clears.”
She wanted to both groan and jump for joy. Instead, she stood and looked at the spring rain dropping from the sky in thick ropes. No, she would not be going anywhere, at least for a short while.
They looked at each other for a long time as the sound of the pattering rain drifted through the still-open door. His face was split into a wide, nearly triumphant, grin, but her heart was still pounding with near-panic at what had happened only a few moments before.
When she watched him, though, she could not stop the edges of her lips from curving upwards the slightest amount and some of the tension in her shoulders from disappearing. There was no help for it. His smile was so warm, so relieved, she had no choice but to catch his mood, if only a little.
He shrugged again. “There’s no point standing here. Shall we go back to dinner?”
Here was a chance to allow some space between them, regardless of how little she actually wanted that space. “I am not hungry, thank you, but you should eat. I can occupy myself in the sitting room.”
She turned away from him and the pouring rain and went into the nearby room, taking the same spot she had occupied when Mrs. Leach was present—the far end of the couch. She was happy to have a chance to create distance between them. When he was too close she had a difficult time thinking, and it
was high time to start mulling over her own behavior. She was still in shock at what she had done and needed an opportunity to reconstruct the walls around her heart—they had taken some heavy blows throughout the evening and were crumbling fast.
But she did not get her wish for privacy. Instead of going back into the dining room, or even sitting in his chair across the room, he took the spot beside her on the couch. So close she could smell him, a musky aroma that was completely male. It clouded her mind, and it bothered her how delighted her body was about his choice. It made it much more difficult to keep herself in control.
She endeavored to ignore him, occupying herself by picking up a nearby book, but her mind was so focused on him that she was unable to read even the title on the cover. He turned his body so he was facing her on the small piece of furniture, so close that she could sense him without looking.
He said, “I think we should talk about that kiss.”
Damn. He was direct. Why did he have quite so many admirable qualities? Couldn’t he be a little less perfect?
She moved so she was facing him, their knees touching slightly, something her entire being was very aware of. She tried to focus on anything else, but everything in front of her was him: his eyes, his delicious mouth with that nearly-constant hint of a smile, that chest…
She brought her attention back up to his face, focusing her attention on his right eyebrow. It was certainly safer than where her eyes had been drifting, though he did have very nice eyebrows, she noticed.
She shook her head. She really needed to pull this together.
“Alice?”
His voice woke her from her thoughts and she realized just how long she had been sitting there without responding. Stay in control. That was her top priority. In her most matter-of-fact attitude, she said, “Yes, sorry. The kiss. It was a terrible thing for me to do and will never happen again.”
She tried to be unemotional, but watching his expression fall, seeing how downcast he became, was too much. She softened a little. It would be best to tell the truth, or at least a portion of it. “It was wonderful, but I must keep my situation as a teacher here. There are rules that I need to follow: no dating, no marriage, no kissing. There is no other option if I want to keep my employment.”
