Denim and Lace

by Rice, Patricia

  Sloan was beside her in a few long strides, catching her by the waist and lifting her from her feet. Samantha was plastered against him as his mouth caught and tormented hers once more. Damn, but he needed only to touch her lips with his and she turned into liquid pudding. She took his tongue and met it with her own as she slid down his front, and he lowered her feet to the sand.

  "Then we'll find a bed," he growled against her mouth, pushing her slightly away. His head came up so that their eyes met. "And I'm not marrying anybody."

  Sam set her lips and glared back. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth."

  "Good. Then that's settled. Let's get going."

  He spun on his heel and set out across the dune, ungallantly letting her make her own way through the shifting and. She stopped to gather her shoes and stockings and put them on at the crest of the hill. Sloan was already checking their gear and unhobbling the horses.

  It was a damned good thing she wasn't a romantic or Sloan Talbott would get under her skin real quick, like a tick on a dog. He was rude and uncouth, but he unrolled her coat and threw it to her to stop her shivering and offered to ride slowly if she wanted to sit sideways on the saddle. She supposed that was all the concession she would get for what they had just done together.

  She didn't need any concession. She got up in the saddle by herself, wincing only slightly as she threw her leg over the broad back of her horse. The pain served to remind her how thick he'd been when he'd shoved into her. She refused to complain. He was right. She had wanted what they'd done as much as he had, and it had felt as natural and right as the clouds floating in the sky above them. She just hadn't wanted him to stop.

  But he'd taken precautions as he'd promised. There wouldn't be any unwanted results from their coupling. That gave her some feeling of relief and security to carry with her to the next time. Knowing it was probably the wrong time of the month for conception wasn't enough. Mistakes happened, and she couldn't afford mistakes with a man like Sloan. And there would very definitely be a next time and quite possibly a time after that for mistakes to occur.

  Samantha gave herself into her daydreams as she watched the sway of Sloan's broad shoulders and narrow hips on the horse in front of her. Next time, maybe they wouldn't be wearing so many clothes. She flushed heatedly as she tried to imagine him without anything on. The image came to her easily if she thought of him covering her body with his as he had done earlier. She wanted to see him like that, not just imagine him.

  She didn't know why it had to be Sloan Talbott who drove her to these wild thoughts. He didn't care for her in any way except for what she offered him between her legs. He'd already proved that. The difference in their ages and experience loomed suddenly immense betwee them. She was little more than a fool girl in his eyes, although she knew she was mature beyond her age, and she was no spring chicken. But he had the advantage over her in the one area where they shared an interest—sex. She couldn't do much to change that.

  She turned her attention to her surroundings as they rode out of the wilderness into the civilized countryside around San Francisco. On the busy highway, a stagecoach raced by, forcing a wagon to the road's edge. The wagon driver cursed and shook his fist. In the distance Sam could see the sparkle of sun on water and bobbing ships in the harbor. The low line of buildings spewing brown smoke rose in front of her, cutting off any further sight of the bay.

  Sam held her tongue as they rode through town, and her senses were bombarded by more exotic scents an sounds and sights than she'd ever encountered in her life. As if they were beasts of burden, Chinamen scurried down side streets hauling two-wheeled carts. The stench of rotting fish carried in on the breeze, mixing with the aromas of incense coming from a nearby building with foreign writing on the outside. Sam craned her head to see more, but Sloan's pace didn't allow for lingering. She hurried her mount to keep up with him.

  Brick buildings surrounded them. Her father had written of the fires of earlier decades, but she could see no evidence of them in these substantial businesses. Men in frock coats and top hats walked the streets in company with women in respectable mantles and bustled gowns. No one paid heed to a rough mountain man and a woman wearing a skirt while riding astride.

  She should have changed into her other gown, Samantha decided the moment Sloan stopped in front of an imposing edifice labeled hotel. The men going in and out the large double front doors wore respectable business suits. She didn't see any women entering those portals.

  When Sam didn't get down herself, Sloan came around and lifted her from her horse. The clasp of his hands around her waist didn't help the situation any. She was reminded of what he would expect her to do once they were in private. She shuddered and tried to keep her attention on her bedraggled state of dress.

  "I look a mess," she whispered before he could walk off.

  "When did that ever concern you?" he asked rudely. "We won't know anyone here. Who's to care how you look?"

  She would, but she knew better than to explain that to a man. Resigned, she tucked her coat around her so the disgrace of her wrinkled bodice couldn't be seen. Then she took Sloan's elbow and let him lead her into the lobby.

  It was even more grand than she feared. She tried not to look at the glittering gas chandelier overhead. The mirror behind the desk made her grimace, and she instantly stood behind Sloan so she didn't have to look at herself. She heard him order a bath just as he had before, but this time she didn't make the mistake of protesting. She could look for her father after she made herself presentable.

  There was even a porter to carry their saddlebags upstairs. Dazed at this amount of luxury, Samantha simply kept her grip on Sloan's arm and tried to pretend she was accustomed to carpeted lobbies and mahogany staircases.

  When they were finally alone in a room with a massive brass bed and blue velvet draperies and a wardrobe that must have sailed around the Cape, Sam took a deep breath and tried to gather her failing courage. The fact that this room was twice the size of the one he'd taken her to before was of no relevance. Sloan Talbott seemed to fill any room he entered, and he was all she could see now.

  She watched as he casually threw his sheepskin coat on the bed and rummaged through his bags. She eyed her grand surroundings and doubted that they were for her benefit. Somehow, Sloan Talbott belonged in a room like this.

  When a knock at the door indicated the bath had arrived, Sloan gathered up the collection of clean clothing he'd pulled from his bags. Glancing at Samantha as if just discovering she was still there, he announced, "I'm going to the bathhouse to get cleaned up. I'm going to have to send around a few messages before we can get started asking questions here. I'll have them send up some food until I can get back."

  She was relieved to know that he didn't intend to take his bath right here and with her, but she didn't like the idea of being left behind either. "How long do you mean to be gone?"

  He shrugged dismissively and opened the door. "Long enough to get done what needs to be done. I'll come back before dinner." He gave her bedraggled gown a stoic look. "Is that the only dress you brought?"

  A porter carried in a large copper tub, and two maids carried buckets of water. Samantha regarded them nervously. "I've got my linsey-woolsey. There's not too many gowns can be worn without hoops and whatnot."

  He nodded curtly. "All right, I'll have someone send around something decent then. I mean to meet with the railroad board, and it's probably best if you go with me."

  He was gone before she could fully register what he said. She stared at the door closing behind him, trying to convince herself she hadn't heard him right. She might possibly imagine Sloan calling on the powerful railroad board. If she really worked at it, she could possibly see him dragging her along for the slaughter. But the first part of his statement, the one about sending something around decent—that part she must have misunderstood. Surely he couldn't mean clothes.

  He must have been talking about the food he'd said he'd sen
d up. She certainly hoped it was decent. She was about to starve to death. But first she wanted that bath. She watched impatiently as the servants filled the tub and finally departed. Her family was respectably wealthy, but they'd never really had servants. Her mother had always done the cooking, and Sam and the twins had helped with the housework. They had someone out to do the laundry once a week, and men to work in the stables and so forth, but not house servants. She wasn't certain what to say to them, but they didn't seem to expect anything. She watched them go and began to strip off her soiled clothing.

  When she was almost naked, she felt suddenly nervous about Sloan walking back in on her, but the desire for a bath was greater than her fear of Sloan. She ached. She felt grubby. And she had a need to smell like roses and lavender.

  The food arrived after she'd soaked away the soreness and two days' worth of dust. Her hair was wet and tangled in a towel, and she had to wrap a blanket around her to open the door, but the maid didn't seem to find her attire unusual. She'd apparently seen stranger things in this city where anything could happen.

  Samantha gave her the wrinkled gown from her saddlebag and asked if it could be pressed. The maid assured her she would return it immediately, and satisfied she had done all she could for her limited wardrobe, Sam sat down to enjoy her food. She didn't know if it was the ocean air or the unaccustomed exercise, but she could eat a mountain.

  She kept listening for the sound of Sloan's footsteps in the hall. Now that she was clean and feeling better, she wondered what it would be like to really share a bed with him, with both of them naked and prepared for it. She sizzled inside just thinking of it. If she was going to get only forty-eight hours of experience in a man's arms, she didn't want to waste a minute of those hours.

  But she finished her repast without any interruption. She found clean linen in her bags and donned it, delaying as long as she could. She really didn't want to rumple another gown if Sloan decided to return once she got all dressed again. She wrapped the blanket around her and gazed out the window to the street below. She didn't see any sign of him.

  A knock indicated the maid had returned with her newly pressed gown. Grimacing at her faint reflection in the glass, Sam turned and opened the door.

  A line of red-capped porters bearing armloads of boxes entered in single file, covered the bed with their burdens, and filed back out again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Samantha paced up and down the carpeted hotel-room floor. Her new crinoline swung in an irritable arc, bouncing off the bed and the wardrobe and just missing the washstand when she made a hasty turn. The green silk whispered as it swished over the modified hoops of the crinoline to trail on the floor behind her. Lace spilled over the bodice front and adorned the wide sleeves of her gown, lace that matched the undergarments concealed beneath the acres of skirt.

  The stockings she wore were fine silk and the shoes were barely slippers. The only thing the dratted man hadn't provided was a corset, but the gown had obviously been adapted to accommodate that unfashionable lack. Samantha didn't even want to think about how Sloan had managed to have all these clothes put together in the short length of time he'd been gone. It spoke volumes of his relationship with some dressmaker.

  She wasn't certain which irritated her the most, that he didn't consider her wardrobe adequate to be seen with him, or that he considered her the kind of woman he must reward with clothes. She alternately considered scratching his eyes out or flinging the wretched gown at him, but she was bound by one major restraint—-he'd promised to help find her father and this was his way of doing it.

  By the time Sloan finally put in an appearance, Sam was barely able to speak. She flung the astronomically expensive cashmere shawl at him as he walked through the door and was reaching for the box of gloves when he grabbed her wrist.

  "What in hell's the matter with you?" He caught her other wrist when she swung her fist at him.

  "You! Who do you think you are? What do you think I am? Where did you get all this fancy gear? And why in hell did you think I ought to wear it?" Sam practically screamed the questions at him, ineffectually swinging her arms in an attempt to strike him.

  Sloan caught her flailing arms more securely and held them at her waist with one of his own. Pressed back against his hard body, she scarcely noticed as her hoop went sailing out to the side. His other hand rested right below her breast, rubbing at the underside, and he wasn't pretending he didn't notice. One finger reached to tentatively stroke higher.

  "I should have known a damned little hellcat wouldn't appreciate my efforts. You were the one worried about your appearance. I suppose you'd be happier if I dragged you in front of some of the most influential men in the state while you're wearing your mother's made-over Sunday gown?"

  “There's nothing wrong with my made-over gowns," Sam said with a sniff, but she knew she was lying. The linsey-woolsey without petticoats hung on her like a sack. It might be adequate for watering horses, but not for meeting important men who might know her father. She tried to elbow Sloan and distract him from her breast.

  "Fine. You can wear your made-over gown when we go out to dinner tonight. We haven't got time for you to change right now. The board is having a meeting this afternoon. We're invited to join them."

  He released her, and Samantha swung around to stare at him. He had actually gotten them in to see the railroad board! How had he done that?

  Sloan was wearing his newly pressed frock coat and the shirt with the ruffle down the front. His cravat was neatly tied, and his embroidered silk vest was buttoned. He had shaved, and even had his hair trimmed. Samantha stared at the handsome stranger staring back at her and muttered a curse. She had agreed to go to bed with this man who could have any woman he crooked a finger at? No wonder he'd found her disappointing.

  Sloan's eyes narrowed at her silence. "What's wrong? Do I look that bad?"

  Startled by this admission of unease, Sam blinked, then shook her head. "No, of course not. You look fine. I just . .. You . .." She closed her eyes and sighed. There was no way of explaining it. He was more than she knew, and she was still peeling off layers. She would never know the real Sloan Talbott.

  He cupped her chin and gave her a swift kiss. His fingers were hard and possessive as they caressed her throat. When he lifted his head again, he murmured, "We'll have this discussion later, when all our finery is on the floor."

  Lord, but the way he said that made her shiver and want to strip off all her clothes right now. Her desire must have been blatant in her eyes because the look Sloan gave her practically smoldered. He almost looked regretful when he stepped away.

  "It's a damn good thing this coat is long," he muttered obscurely as he picked up the shawl and threw it at her.

  Sam tried to pretend she didn't know what he meant as she sailed out the door ahead of him, but she couldn't help glancing swiftly at his hips. The frock coat covered everything interesting.

  The railroad board met in a long, elegantly furnished room in one of the banks. As Sam and Sloan were ushered into the presence of these men who meant to transform the continent, Sam tried to be properly appreciative of the honor. Instead, she couldn't help noticing that they were just men, and not particularly distinguished ones at that.

  "Good to see you again, Talbott," one of the men with dark side-whiskers said as they entered. "Understand your mining ventures are doing well these days."

  Sam tried to look politely disinterested, but catching Sloan in another lie didn't sit easily. He'd told her family he owned just a small quicksilver mine. She should have known he didn't need a town full of miners for that.

  "I reckon timber will be worth more than mining in the long run," Sloan replied laconically. "I'd like you gentlemen to meet Miss Samantha Neely, a family friend."

  Sam nodded a greeting and tried to smile pleasantly at this circle of avaricious men staring at her as if she were a stake ready for claiming. The one at the far corner of the table frowned slightly as Sloan ra
ttled off their names. That man recognized her name, she was sure of it.

  "Miss Neely's father disappeared some time after leaving my territory. We've tracked him here. His opinions sometimes run counter to prevailing thought, but he's a talented inventor. We thought one of you might have availed yourself of his talents. He expressed interest in seeking you out."

  That was a diplomatic way of putting it. Sam watched the angry tic at the corner of the mouth of the man at the end of the table. She'd wager he was carrying around a whole lot more anger than Sloan, and that was saying something.

  Sloan gave her father's name and described him. Sam knew she ought to tell these men how wonderful her father was, but she could sense they not only wouldn't listen, but also that they'd already made up their minds. They didn't mean to tell her anything.

  The whiskered man spoke up when Sloan stopped speaking. "Your father sounds like the kind of man we could use out here, Miss Neely." He effectively dismissed her by directing his gaze toward Sloan. "He might have been able to figure out how to get those rails through the pass without those damned expensive snowsheds, pardon my language. But I can't say that I've met him, I'm sorry."

  She couldn't tell if he lied, but she judged some of the others guilty of lies of omission. They merely nodded their heads in agreement with the speaker, but the undercurrent in the room made her uneasy.

  Sloan caught her elbow to take her out, but Sam spoke softly before he could lead her away. "My father is a gentle, generous man. He might have opinions that people don't like, but he's never harmed a soul. My mother and my sisters are devastated by his disappearance. My uncle died while bringing us out here to locate him. He left a son who needs a man's hand to guide him. If there is anything you can do, any word you might have heard, I beg you to let us know. I will never be able to just let the matter drop."

  Sloan's hand pinched her arm, but she ignored him while she met the gaze of each man in that room. One looked away. One looked sympathetic, but essentially uninterested. Another glanced at his watch. Furious, she spun on her heel and marched out without need of Sloan's support.