by Twilight
Jessica averted her gaze and felt the flush stain her cheeks, knowing full well which dress Louise spoke of, simply because her eye seemed to stray to the frock whenever she ventured past Ledbetter’s.
“So?” Louise mused smugly. “Is the ribbon to impress Avram, or simply to bring him to his knees with passion?”
Jessica blinked. “Avram?”
Louise set her jaw. “Avram. Your fiancé.”
“Yes, of course, I know who Avram is. Yes, it is— I mean, gracious, no. Avram abhors color on me.”
Louise gave her another curious look. “Are you feeling well, Jessica? You look hot and feverish, and you seem a touch preoccupied. Too much sun, perhaps. Haven’t I told you your strawberries will be worth nothing to you if you work yourself to death out in those fields all day?”
“Better that than to starve,” Jessica replied crisply.
“Oh, posh, Avram would never allow you to starve.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Then again, he hasn’t done much to help me, either.”
Louise gave her an understanding pat on the arm. “Men can be too stubborn for their own good, Jessica, especially men who get themselves all caught up in their own work. Even a kind and gentle man like Avram. You know he would never steer you wrong. I can’t imagine why he would. And need I remind you that his house is just around the corner from ours? We would be neighbors! Perhaps you should reconsider and sell. You know, those East Coast businessmen have been known to be rather persistent when they’re after something. Avram merely seeks to spare you all that heartache—”
Jessica glowered at her friend from beneath the sweep of her hat.
“Then again,” Louise said swiftly, “perhaps Avram shall come around. Men do that sort of thing when they’re in love with a woman. Oh, but you already realize that.”
No, Jessica had never realized that, perhaps because she’d never experienced it. Not with Frank, and certainly not with Avram. She forced a smile, despite her fleeting disquiet. “But what of you, Lou? Shouldn’t you be shading yourself on some lovely, cool veranda somewhere, sipping lemonade, for the next six months?”
Louise grinned hugely and effortlessly, and her gloved hand smoothed the cotton over the slight curve of her belly. “Oh, Jessica, I don’t think I can bear to wait another six months. Particularly if it means six months of sequestering myself in the house for fear someone might take notice of my condition. Blast these silly notions. Confinement. It makes me sound as if I’ve acquired some contagious disease. How the devil is a woman supposed to shop?”
“And how is John managing all this?”
Louise gave a throaty laugh. “He was quite overcome with all the vomiting, as any man would be, I suppose. Silly creatures. They can abide all the guns and the killing and the bloodshed in the name of honor and country, but the rigors of nature and childbearing loom beyond them. But all that has since passed, and he’s got that proud spring in his stride once again. He is rather afraid of laying even one hand upon me, though.” Louise tapped a finger against her bottom lip. “I can’t imagine how I might convince him otherwise without coming off sounding a bit...loose. He has always been rather a stickler when it comes to convention.”
“Little wonder he’s such a fine attorney. You should be proud of him, Lou.”
“I am. He will make a fine father. He’d better. He wants to have six children.”
Jessica gaped, horrified. “Six? Good heavens, Louise, you must change his mind.”
“Why the devil should I? I cannot think of anything more delightful—” a wicked sparkle lit Louise’s dark eyes “—and delicious than trying your very best to fill a home with children with the man you desperately love, faults and all. Can you?”
“I—” The words caught in Jessica’s throat. No, she’d never felt anything at all like that. Christian had been the only blessing to come of her clumsy attempts to fulfill her duties as a new bride. After his birth, Frank had seemed preoccupied with his cattle business, and Jessica had scarcely had the energy to tend to the family, much less to her husband’s infrequent needs. So unlike Louise and John French. More like strangers, they had been, existing beneath the same roof.
No, Jessica had never dreamed of filling her home with Frank’s children.
“Besides—” Louise cocked a saucy brow and whispered hoarsely. “This being with child has its advantages. A girl could get awfully used to having large bosoms. And her husband, as well, eh?”
Something stirred in Jessica, and she realized what it was. A painful melancholy, and for what? A man she had come to realize had cared more for himself than for her or his son? Or the woman who’d been too naive to see it? She should have buried all that with him. She was starting afresh with Avram, wasn’t she? Why the devil, then, did she feel so sad?
“Avram wants children, I’m sure. You’ll see, Jessica. I wouldn’t doubt you’ll be pregnant within your first month of marriage, just like I was.”
“I’m rather certain I wouldn’t want that.”
“Good grief, you sound positively morose.”
Jessica stared at her gloved hands, clasped tightly together. “I suppose I do.”
Louise flung an arm about her shoulders. “My dear, we all must endure these prenuptial jitters...though I must say I was far too consumed with—how shall I say this?—restraining myself until John and I were properly wed to ever wonder whether I was doing the right thing by marrying him. I’m sure you experience those moments, just as you do these sad ones, hmm?”
“Actually, Avram... He...he’s not like John. He’s...well...he’s...”
“Say it. Somewhat of a prig. True. But he’s a man of the church, Jessica. Remember this. Those types must forever be aware of their public image. But just wait. That gentle man might become a savage tiger in your wedding chamber. Oooh! A man like that could make a woman change her mind about all those babies. Now see, there, you’re smiling.”
“I can’t quite imagine where Avram might be hiding his savage tiger.”
“It’s the quiet ones who surprise you most, Jessica. Trust me. Now, I must be off. John will lock me in our bedroom if he finds out I was out shopping till midday. Some balderdash about me needing my rest. But even he won’t be able to keep me from the church picnic Sunday.” Louise peered at her reflection in the storefront window, adjusted her bonnet and held a ribbon of the most astonishing shade of fuchsia next to her face. “You’re coming, of course. Let us fervently pray the Fates conspire and Sadie McGlue finds herself confined to her bed with chronic dyspepsia and— Why, there she is now, coming out of Ledbetter’s.”
Jessica swiveled about and almost launched herself between the bolts of cloth to achieve a better view.
“Oh, what a god-awful dress,” Louise observed. “And Dolly Terwilliger right behind her, looking just as hideous. I’d say they’ve both put on weight, wouldn’t you? There is justice, after all, and—”
Jessica knew precisely the reason Louise’s breath caught in her throat. The reason had nothing to do with Sadie McGlue and Dolly Terwilliger or their dresses. That reason had everything to do with the pair of very long legs thrown into sunlight as they paused just outside Ledbetter’s. Muscled legs, snugly encased in soft, faded denims. A man’s legs. Strong, capable legs that made a woman’s knees turn to water.
A savage tiger’s legs.
“Oh, my,” Louise said.
He descended one step, and another, and sunlight swept up over his lean hips, over the buttery shirt stretched taut over a remarkable expanse of chest and his arms, one wielding several large packages, up, up... His hat shadowed all but the startling flash of his grin.
Jessica’s teeth met. The beast was grinning at Sadie McGlue and Dolly Terwilliger, and they...they were fluttering about him like agitated, horridly dressed butterflies consumed with making just the right impression.
“Who in blazes is that?” Louise said.
But Jessica had already brushed past her and was stomping out the door, Christian fir
mly in tow.
“You forgot your ribbon,” Louise called after her, only to stop short as Jessica marched past the front window, directly toward Ledbetter’s. A furious flush stained her cheeks. Her blond curls bounced with indignant fury. My, but Louise had never seen so much fire and life in her friend.
Her eyes darted to Tall, Dark and Dangerous, then swept back to Jessica. A small smile crept across her lips, and it was with a decided satisfaction that Louise again lifted the fuchsia ribbon against her skin. A lovely shade. Did remarkable things to her eyes. Then again, with a heaping pile of colored ribbons, a girl could linger for hours at this window, deciding which to choose.
Again her gaze swept to the dark-haired stranger. He had turned, no doubt at the sound of Jessica’s feet clomping upon the wooden boardwalk. And he was watching her with a look that made Louise wish, just for one fleeting moment, that she wasn’t married.
Yes, best to linger right here over these ribbons. After all, she had John to think about. He’d never abided foolish spending on fripperies. He would be duly thankful that she had taken the care to choose just one.
* * *
How dare he insinuate himself so...so easily with the enemy camp. How dare he stand there and look so blasted pleased about his circumstances, wounded shoulder and all! How dare he look at her as though she hadn’t a solitary reason to find all this just the least bit annoying! And a very large, very logical part of her knew not why. She did need him, did she not? He had managed to milk her cow and fix her buckboard to her satisfaction, hadn’t he? He seemed capable and determined, didn’t he? Why, then, was she suddenly possessed with the idea of slapping Sadie McGlue silly, if only to wipe that ridiculous grin from her face? And why was she always stirred into these fits and frets whenever Stark was anywhere near her?
Jessica ground to a halt directly before him and jutted her chin at him, purposely ignoring the twin parasols lingering rather pointedly at his back. “Are you quite finished, Stark?”
Again, that infernal twitch of his mouth. “For now.”
“Good.”
Sunlight stirred blue fire in his hair as he jerked his head toward Ledbetter’s. “I’ve a few more things still inside.”
“Then get them.” She breezed past him and marched for the buckboard without even a sideways glance at Sadie McGlue and Dolly Terwilliger. Let them stare, by God, and flutter and fuss. Why, she was far above such posturing, all for the sake of a man.
“Had enough of shopping already?” he said with a lazy drawl that stopped her cold. She swung a glare at him, startled to find him right at her side. Again, he had the effrontery to smile, albeit a mere shifting of that downward slash of his lips yet one that narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “And, as wonders would have it, nothing to show for it. An oddity for a woman.”
“Hardly. I’ve managed to acquire a nasty headache.”
“You should have eaten breakfast,” he graciously advised. “It would have done wonders for your mood. I’m sure Miss Beecher recommends it.”
That undercurrent of derision flowed like warm cream through his voice, as though he found great humor in all this, and particularly her.
“Yep. You should have eaten your breakfast, Mama,” Christian echoed as he insinuated himself between them and gazed up at Stark with unbridled admiration. “Right, Logan? We ate, didn’t we? You even ate Mama’s burnt bread. Can I drive the buggy home now?”
Jessica nearly choked on her frustration as Sadie and Dolly twittered, finding apparent humor in her inability to cook. And then, before she could grasp her young son’s chin and yank it up to her, the truly unexpected and preposterous happened. So unexpected and preposterous, Jessica was later certain her shock had emblazoned itself upon her face for the world to see.
“Oh, Jessica! Jessica Wynne! Don’t rush off, dear. So good to see you about!”
It was Sadie McGlue, frantically waving in a manner entirely unbefitting a woman who had made it her life’s pursuit to make certain everyone knew she’d married a New England McGlue. No, Jessica didn’t imagine the New England McGlues would look with favor on this sort of wild flapping, or the shrill tone invading Sadie’s typically controlled voice. To her credit, Sadie executed a crisp swish and glide of all those bustled skirts until she was poised at Stark’s side. And then she, too, lifted her dimpled chin and all but beamed up at Stark.
“Poor thing, we never see her anymore.” Sadie pouted, as if this somehow vexed her. “Brokenhearted, I suppose, ever since her husband Frank was murdered. A dastardly killing. In Wichita, by some bloodthirsty outlaw.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McGlue,” Jessica cut in. “That will be quite enough—”
“Shot once, right through the heart,” Sadie continued without pause, one gloved hand flapping at her enormous bosom. “And in the midst of gambling in some hedonists’ thirst parlor. Oh, look, I must be upsetting her...and the child. Always a strange boy, hiding in his mother’s skirts. Nevertheless, Jessica, you look pale, my dear. And awfully thin, now that I get a good look-see. Oh, but how silly of me to go on so about things a woman wouldn’t want known of her dead husband. You know, all those awful vices men have. They always have a way of reflecting poorly on the wife, don’t they? But, Logan...” She didn’t pause for breath, though her brows lifted with some surprise. “Logan. Why—how odd. Logan. I do believe that’s the name of the man who murdered your Frank, Jessica. Yes, look there, on that handbill. Rance Logan.” Sadie’s shrill giggle pierced the air. “Oh, but you look nothing like that awful savage. Some sort of half-breed, no doubt. Filthy redskinned heathens, running about killing innocent people. You’re nothing like that, are you, Mr. Stark?”
Jessica dug her balled fists into her thighs and pasted on a fake smile. “Mr. Stark is not an outlaw. He is my new hand.”
Sadie slanted her a bland smile. “I know who he is. Logan and I had quite a lengthy exchange in Ledbetter’s, isn’t that right, Logan?”
“Excuse me, ladies,” he muttered, moving between them to the back of the buggy to deposit the bundles clutched in his good arm. Sadie’s eyes fastened upon him as though she wished to commit to memory his every movement.
Jessica ground her teeth and glared at Stark as he turned and headed back to Ledbetter’s. Fine, so the man moved with a remarkable litheness and grace more common to predatory beasts of the night. That made him no less of an annoyance. And those denims were downright revealing, fitting him like a second skin, so that every flex of his high-muscled buttocks was clearly defined when he moved. Indeed, a girl could find herself unduly fascinated by it all...were she weak enough of character, that is.
Jessica pressed a hand to her throat and realized her fingers were ice-cold, and trembling.
“Yes, indeed,” Sadie McGlue murmured in a husky voice, her glittering eyes once more fastening upon Jessica. “If you ever tire of Logan Stark, Jessica, do let me know. Immediately. In the meantime, I daresay you’ve executed a rare coup in hiring such a fellow. Why, in one fell swoop, exquisitely plotted, I presume, you’ve launched yourself from the fathomless pit of the despairing. And, I assume, with Avram’s full approval. Well done. I don’t know if I could have done as well myself. Hubert would have taken one look at Logan Stark and sent me to his mother’s in Boston as punishment. Ah, indeed, my dear, welcome back to the living. And would you please do me the favor of joining Hubert and me for afternoon tea Thursday next?”
Jessica stared at Sadie McGlue, of the New England McGlues, a woman known statewide for her exclusive teas and soirees, events that had occupied many of Jessica’s daydreams. “Thursday next,” she heard herself say.
“Yes, indeed. And Logan Stark is also welcome. Do bring him, dear...” Sadie displayed a wicked grin. “If only for us girls to look at, hmm?”
And with a last pat of Jessica’s arm and a ruffling of Christian’s hair, replete with a “Darling child,” Sadie McGlue rejoined Dolly Terwilliger and sashayed up the street whence she had come.
Jessica stared af
ter her until the heavy thump of packages tumbling into the buggy commanded her attention. Again she glared at Stark, so consumed with her thoughts that she even allowed him to hand her up into the buggy without a hint of resistance. Even when he climbed aboard and gave the reins to Christian.
“That’s some headache you’ve got,” he said, his gaze resolute before him, so that Jessica was presented with a rather startling view of his profile, a circumstance that trapped her voice midchest. By God, but the man was too handsome for his own good. Not handsome in a gentlemanly manner that bespoke fine breeding and grace. No, there was nothing even vaguely pretty about him. His was a weathered, majestic handsomeness, the seasoned surety of movement and expression of a man who’d lived for centuries. Yet she sensed a studied control lurking there, not the sort born of the practiced gentlemanly arts Avram tried so valiantly to emulate, but the control of a man who harbored deeply kept secrets. Yes, it was easy to believe a face like his would have much to conceal. Something had forever stamped that brooding look upon him.
Jessica shook off these unwanted stirrings of curiosity about the man. “What the devil did you say to her?” she snapped.
“To who, ma’am?”
“Look at me, Stark, blast you.”
“Mama, you said a bad word. You said blast.”
Jessica ground her teeth and sought to retrieve precious control, a quest made all the more arduous when Stark’s gaze met hers over Christian’s head. She directed herself to her son. “Indeed, I did say a bad word, Christian, and I’m most repentant.”
“You said damn in the clothiers, too.”
“And I duly regret that, as well, but, Christian, you need not repeat—”
“You’re not supposed to say damn, Mama. Or dammit. Or God dam—”
“Christian.”
“I know, Mama. It’s a bad word. So is butt.”
“Stop.” Jessica released a quavering breath, not for the first time sensing the futility inherent in parenting. “Promise me you will never repeat any other bad word as long as you live and breathe.”
