by Gordon, Rose
She did as instructed. “I see a small tree way over there.”
“Then bring the gun down a little until you see our target, which isn’t the tree, by the way. Even I don’t think I could hit it from this distance.”
She lowered the end of the gun. “I see it now.”
“Good. Now, whenever you’re ready, squeeze the trigger.”
Nerves, or perhaps the closeness of Jack and the headiness of his scent filling her nostrils, got to her and her hands began to shake.
He tightened his hold over her hand. “I’m right here. The bullet will go forward, I promise. Nothing will happen to you, just fire.”
Ella closed both eyes and pulled the trigger.
Jack chuckled. “That was better than my first shot.”
She spun around to face him. “Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not. Didn’t I tell you that when I went to West Point, I’d never touched a gun before?” He reached into his pocket and retrieved another packet, then handed it to her. “My first shot took place the day I arrived. I did hit a target though, just not my own. I hit the one that was forty feet to the left of the one I was supposed to be aiming at. Your shot was only about twenty feet off.”
She laughed and took the cartridge from him, then started putting it into the gun.
His strong hands grasped her shoulders. “Never load the gun while it is pointed at a man on your side.” He spun her around toward the target. “Go ahead. Very good, push it just a little farther in. Now set the cock.”
“Just pull back?”
“Yes.”
She tried to imitate how she’d seen him do it earlier and only use her thumb, but it was too hard for her to do. She pointed it down and shifted it between her hands so she could get a better hold between her thumb and forefinger.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s too hard.”
He stepped right up behind her and leaned his head to look over her shoulder, his broad chest pressing against her back. Her body jerked of its own accord at his touch, causing her to accidentally back up into him more. She went still. Very still. From her shoulders all the way to her derriere, she was pushed up against his body.
“Don’t do that,” he barked, reaching for the gun. “You’ll shoot yourself in the foot if it slips and you misfire.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t pull the cock back. It was too stiff.”
He made a choking sound and took a step back. “That happens sometimes,” he murmured under his breath. Then he lifted the gun and with a quick flick of his thumb, he set the cock and released it. “Try again.”
She tried again, but it was still too hard for her to move it. “I can’t do that with my thumb.”
“All right. Hold the gun with your right hand, as you’re doing already. Now lift your left and use the inside of your palm to set the hammer.”
She frowned. “The hammer?”
“Yes, the hammer. I think we should call it the hammer.”
She turned around to see his face, but he ducked. Perhaps she didn’t really want to know what that was about. “All right, I’ll try the method you’ve suggested.” It was much easier to move the thing that way, but when she did, she nearly lost her balance.
Jack’s hands went to her waist to stay her. “Here, why don’t you sit on the stool?”
As much as she wanted to sit and rest her leg, there wasn’t a chance she’d take him up on his offer and miss the opportunity to have him so close. “That’s all right. I’ll stand. I’m just trying to get used to this.”
“It’s all right. Take your time.”
She put her hands on the grip and moved into position to look down the barrel at where her bullet would go. Then ever so slowly, she pulled the trigger. “Where did it go?”
“Just a little above the edge of the target. That’s still very good.”
She nodded, not feeling very accomplished.
“Ella, it’s all right that you’re not perfect at this. I don’t expect you to be.”
Ella fired off a few more shots, not once hitting anywhere near the target. Jack didn’t seem to mind though. He just praised her loading, then bent down and helped her aim. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t come close to her target. The nearness of him was distracting. His spicy scent, his bristly whiskers that grazed her cheek or neck whenever he came close, the warmth of his body. Just him. It was distracting. He was distracting. But in a good way. A very good way.
She peeked up at him. He had eyes the color of obsidian and an angular jaw. Of course she already knew he was handsome. She’d never doubted his physical appearance. Only his actions. A small amount of nausea filled her stomach. She’d been so wrong in her judgment of his sincerity and had acted like a total shrew. How could he possibly want her? Did he truly want her or did he feel trapped?
She pulled her eyes away and focused on the target. She had to woo him somehow. But how? He’d seemed quite affected by their kiss. Of course, she had been, too. Her face flushed. She’d been kissed by a few of her suitors, but their kisses had never been like his. His was intense and passionate, yet gentle and intoxicating. Twice, one of her suitors, Joseph Bickford, had tried to touch her breast. She’d immediately become uncomfortable with his feather-light, almost to the point of tickling, touch and had pushed his hand away. Matthew Turner had also tried. But he’d been just the opposite: too aggressive. She still remembered the bruising pain his vice-like grip had caused, startling her almost as much by the pain as by his boldness in touching her there. Of course, she’d slapped his hand away immediately, more so to spare her tender flesh any more pain than to spare her reputation, and had made a mental note that if she married him, she’d have to tell him to be gentler. But that was never a problem. He hadn’t proposed. And what a blessing that was. She couldn’t stop the smile that came across her lips. Jack was a far better catch. One that she wouldn’t have had if she’d accepted any of those others’ suits.
Without having to think about it, she knew that Jack’s touch would be a perfect combination of gentle and firm. He was a perfect combination of gentle and firm. She instinctively scooted a little closer to him. Did he think about touching her breasts? She’d heard whispers that men liked to touch them, and the actions of Joseph Bickford and Matthew Turner seemed to confirm that. But what of Jack? He’d seemed so cold and indifferent last night when he’d admitted to having seen hers. But right before that he’d so boldly expressed interest... Did he have any interest in a physical relationship with her? He’d seemed so casual and accepting of her edict that she’d marry him but wouldn’t perform marital intimacies. Did that mean he didn’t desire them? Or just with her?
She bit her lip and furrowed her brow in confusion. His actions were constant contradictions of each other. Could she persuade him to be interested? Her bosom wasn’t as full as her sister’s, but neither was it comprised of rolled up stockings. Was it possible to win Jack’s heart with her womanly wiles? Seduce him, so to speak. Shame washed over her. Proper young ladies were not supposed to think about doing such—nor feel giddy with excitement at the prospect. But neither did proper young ladies become mail order brides without telling their families. She swallowed hard. She needed to write to her sister and father and let them know where she was and how happy she was. How happy she was with Jack. But just how happy was her husband with her?
She peeked up at his face again. He wore a strange expression. Did he think of her as an undesirable shrew? Or worse, was he completely indifferent about her?
“Is something wrong, Jack?”
“I’m just waiting for you to fire,” he said. “It seems you’ve been aiming for ten minutes. Were we in a war, I’m afraid we’d be dead already.”
Ella squeezed the trigger and Jack’s rich chuckle filled her ear.
“How about you shoot one more, and whether you hit the target or not, we’ll call it a night?”
“All right.” She reached for the bullet cartridge in his hand, then loaded the
gun, took her position, and waited for him to correct her stance.
“Straighten this arm,” he murmured. “Bring this elbow back.” His strong hands guided her arms, making her knees go weak. “I think you’re pointing too high. Lower your arms.” He lowered her arms, and what seemed completely unintentional, he ran his fingers over her breast.
She froze as sparks shot through her and her nipple hardened.
Acting completely unaware of what he’d just done, Jack removed his hands from her arms and encouraged her to shoot.
There was no way she could shoot now! Not with a pounding heart, a blushing face, swollen breasts and shaking hands. Mustering up as much strength as she could, she pulled the trigger without looking, then lowered her gun. “I’m sorry I’m so bad. I didn’t intend to be the worst student you’ve ever had.”
“You’re not.” He grinned and took the gun from her. “I have a man under my command right now who is a worse shot than you, and if you don’t believe me, then you can ask Gray.”
She smiled at his horrible attempt to make her feel better. “Does that mean you haven’t given up hope for me and plan to bring me shooting again?” She was hopeful he’d say yes. Shooting practice offered her all sorts of opportunities to “accidentally” brush up against him and get his attention.
“Of course I plan to take you out again.” He slipped his gun into his gun belt. “Things worth having are often the things you have to work the hardest for.”
Something in his statement, the words, the tone, his look, she wasn’t sure exactly what, made her breath catch. Did that mean he hadn’t given up on her and she had a chance with him?
~Chapter Twenty-Nine~
Jack cringed when he checked his watch. He hadn’t meant for shooting practice to take so long. Not that it had felt too terribly long at the time as he’d stood behind Ella with her soft body against his. She fit nicely into his arms. Of course, he already knew that, but he enjoyed having her there again nonetheless. Unfortunately, they’d been gone so long they’d missed dinner downstairs, which meant he’d have to cook something for them. He knew Ella would cook if he asked it of her, but she still needed to rest. She might not realize it now, but all of that standing out in the field probably wasn’t the best thing for her.
“How hungry are you?” he asked tentatively as he ushered her inside their room. He hoped she’d had a big lunch. If she said she was starving, they’d be up until midnight waiting for dinner to cook over the fire.
“Not very, I suppose. I could settle for something light like bread and apples. The question is—” she turned to face him, her lips twitching and a sparkle in her eyes— “how hungry are you?”
He twisted his lips into an overdone frown and rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. “I could settle for some bread and apples, I suppose. Oh, and some jerky.”
“You need more than that. What do you want?”
You. I want you. He couldn’t say that though, no matter how true it was. He needed to gain her trust first. “I ate a lot at lunch so I don’t need a large dinner tonight.”
She eyed him askance. “All right, but if I wake up and you’re gnawing on your own arm from starvation, don’t expect me to make a midnight journey to Dark Moon to get you something for the infection.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
“You’d rather die than want me to go see Dark Moon for an ointment to save you if you got an infection?” Her eyes searched his face and there was something odd about her voice.
He shook his head. “Absolutely not. Dark Moon doesn’t believe in wearing clothes and I’d be condemned to die alone of infection the second you lay your beautiful eyes on his patch of chest hair. It isn’t much, but it’s more than the fifteen or so strands that I have.”
She swatted at his arm, blushing.
He reached for her, encircling her wrist with his fingers. “If you’ll get out the food, I’ll go fetch us some water for a bath.”
Something akin to excitement came over her face at his words.
Trying not to think of her expression and the meaning behind it too much, he released her wrist and grabbed the pails and went to the well to refill them.
Sighing, he opened the door to reenter their room with the pail of water. As soon as he opened the door, he froze. “Ella, I just asked you to get it all out. I’d have made our plates.”
“I know what you asked. I just thought I’d do the rest.”
He tried not to frown as he set the water down by the fireplace. “Thank you. Now, why don’t you sit down and wait. I’ll light the fire, then come join you.” He made quick work of lighting the fire, after which he scooted the buckets as close as he could so the water would heat. She hadn’t had an actual bath since she’d arrived, and he knew she had to be desperate for one. He stood and brushed the dirt and little pieces of wood off his hands, then went to the table.
“I didn’t know how much jerky you wanted, so I got it all out.”
“Thank you,” he said again. He tore a chunk off, then handed her back the rest, winking. “You’d better hide that or I’ll eat it all.”
“Pa always said army men loved jerky.”
Jack bit off a piece of bread. “Did he say anything else about us?”
“Just that they loved jerky, women, and alcohol—but not always in that order.”
Jack nearly choked on his bread at her casual, almost nonchalant tone. “I see, and does that not bother you?”
“Well...” She tore her piece of bread in half, then again. “I wouldn’t say that it doesn’t bother me, but it didn’t stop me from marrying a military man.”
Jack noticed her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Nor did you know before you arrived that I was.”
“That’s fair enough,” she agreed with a deep exhale. “I guess it bothers me more than I let on or I’d have been more encouraging of James McElroy’s interest in courting me.”
“Alcohol doesn’t interest me,” he offered slowly. “When my father wasn’t in the mine, he consumed alcohol like air. That was probably part of why he was so unhealthy, though the doctor seemed to dismiss the idea and wanted to blame the mine instead.” He closed his eyes for an extended blink. “When he first became sick, I stopped letting him have his drinks and he’d yell for them all day and night until he wore himself out screaming and shaking and kicking and flailing. But I ignored him, hoping once he realized he didn’t need to drink, he’d get better. It took a while for his fits to stop, but his health never improved.” He mindlessly spun his apple on the table. “When he drank, he wasn’t mean exactly, but he certainly wasn’t loving either. He ignored me most of the time, but I don’t know if that’s because he didn’t care I was there or just didn’t know.” He forced a shrug. “Either way, I never developed a taste for the stuff.”
Ella’s hand found his, her soft skin such a welcome caress against his rough hand. “I’m sorry. My father had his whisky on occasion, mainly when one of his men, or one of my sisters, were giving him fits, but he never had more than one glass and only once in a while.”
Jack nodded slowly. Did she expect him to tell her of his experience with women, too? She’d mentioned it was one of the things men were addicted to. “Ella, jerky is my only vice.” He hoped she understood his meaning, for he’d hate to embarrass himself by admitting to her that his experience in romantic matters rivaled hers. He might know a little more, but he hadn’t done much more than she had.
“You are interested in the other, are you not?”
Jack stared at her in confusion. What kind of question was that? He was a man; of course he was interested in women. “Yes.” He held her gaze. “Very.”
She looked past his right shoulder. “I believe the water is ready.”
That’s not the only thing. He stood with a grunt, then swiped a rag from the shelf and went to the pails. He wrapped the rag around the handle, then poured the first pail into the tub. “How hot do you like your water?”
&nb
sp; “Well, I’m not a lobster so I’d prefer not to boil, but I like it fairly warm.”
He nodded and set the empty pail down. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to get in before I put the second bucket in. With a tub this big, and only so much water, it loses its heat quickly.” He placed the rag down on the end of the bed and looked at her. “Would you prefer that I leave or—”
“Of course not.” She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and offered him a smile. “Who would help me remove my dress?”
Jack hardly heard the hint of unease in her voice over the blood that thundered in his ears, and he completely ignored the logic that she didn’t need help removing her dress if she’d been able to put it on this morning without his assistance. He was over to her chair in less than a heartbeat.
“Thank you,” she murmured, placing her unsteady hand into his as he helped her stand.
He squeezed her hand, a silent promise that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. He’d have to be sure to remind himself of that in a few minutes.
Ella’s fingers worked to undo the buttons that went down the front of her dress. Good choice, he thought to himself. Out here women couldn’t afford the time or help to wear fancy dresses every day as they could in the city. They needed clothing that was practical which they could get into and out of with little assistance. That meant few ties and buttons and all in the front. Men were better suited for undressing ladies, not dressing them, and few families in the west could afford to hire someone to attend the missus. At least she’d taken that into account when she’d packed.
He felt a bit foolish watching her as she removed her gown, but that soon faded when she dropped the caps of her sleeves from her shoulders and stood before him in her undergarments. They both knew he’d seen her in as much—and less—before, but it was different. This time, she was awake and knew he was looking.
A shiver passed over her and she looked ill at ease. He placed what he hoped would be a comforting hand against the middle of her back, then guided her to sit on the bed. He sank to his knees in front of her and reminded himself this was just as foreign for her as it was for him. He’d scare her if he rushed, and he’d embarrass himself if he wasn’t careful. Schooling his features to appear calmer than he felt, he reached under the hem of her chemise for the top of her stocking.
