by J. T. Marie
Treading carefully, I ask, “Why not?”
The fork clatters to her plate and she turns to me, all laughter gone from her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Nat. This isn’t a woman’s world, I know that. But I run the ranch better than anyone ever has, and Daddy can’t say otherwise. As long as he’s in charge, I can do as I please. I like doing the finances, and balancing the books, and ordering supplies. I like numbers, silly as that may sound, but I do.”
“I don’t think that sounds silly at all,” I say softly. “If you’re good at it, and you like doing it, then why not do it?”
“Most men don’t feel that way.” Miss Lucille sniffles and wipes a finger under one eye as she looks out over the small, glistening creek nearby. I know she’s trying not to cry, but because I don’t know why—and, worse, I don’t know what to do or say to help—I keep quiet. When she speaks again, there’s a small hitch in her voice. “Most men think a woman’s place is in the kitchen, or running the home, managing the servants, doing needlepoint and gossiping and drinking tea. Some suitors have told me if I chose to marry them, they’d see to it I no longer had to get involved with the business side of things, as if Daddy’s forcing me to do it. As if sitting around idle was some sort of reward for being a good wife!”
“Well,” I drawled, truthfully, “most men are ijits.”
Miss Lucille’s laugh is bright and quick. When she turns to smile at me, her eyes sparkle again. “That’s why I like you, Nat. I can’t figure out just why you aren’t married yet, but it won’t be long before some enterprising young lady ropes you in.”
“Only ladies here in Junction not already spoken for are you and Miss Barbour,” I joke. “Maddy’s too busy, and to be honest, Miss Barbour’s a little too old.”
Her cheeks dimple as her smile widens. “Well, guess that narrows things down a bit.”
She’s kidding, I know she is; she has to be. But at least she isn’t close to tears any longer, and the sunshine is back in her grin. My whole body warms to see it.
Chapter 21
By the time the food is gone, the shadows have lengthened and the sun is beginning to dip below the ridge. Miss Lucille packs away the dishes and shakes out the tablecloth while I unharness the horse to turn the cart around. As I’m re-cinching the leather straps securely, Miss Lucille brushes by me to put the now mostly empty picnic basket into the back of the cart. With a sigh, she leans back and smiles up at the sky. “I had a lovely time with you today,” she says.
“The pleasure was all mine.” I feel like we’ve grown a little closer since this morning. I feel more like her friend and not just someone who works for her father. But who I am keeps us apart. The clothes I wear prohibit any real closeness, and it saddens me a little to think that, if I had arrived in Junction wearing the dress I left Philadelphia in, Miss Lucille and I may have become the best of friends. We would be ensconced in her drawing room, perhaps, sipping on tea and enjoying the latest gossip, or up to our elbows in flour in the kitchen as Nana taught us how to bake the perfect biscuit. Or laying across Miss Lucille’s four-poster bed, our arms around each other, sharing secrets and giggles.
But that sort of life would never fulfill me. I wasn’t meant for frills and lace, I realize that now. And whenever Miss Lucille’s around, my body responds in ways I know it shouldn’t—my heart flutters, my pulse races, my blood warms at her touch. Maybe I’ve worn breeches too long, and even if my body doesn’t show it, my soul has grown more masculine. I’m not a man, I know, but I’m not a woman anymore, either. Not in the same way Miss Lucille is, with her feminine beauty and genteel charm. I’m something in between, a hybrid, trapped by what I am and unable to fully embrace who I am.
Who am I? Nat? Natalie? I thought I knew, but Miss Lucille has blown through my life like a whirlwind, leaving me stunned and reeling when she’s gone.
At the moment, though, she’s right beside me, and she reminds me of this with a soft hand on my shoulder. “Nat?”
I tighten the harness one last time and stand to push back my hat. The sun has sunk a little lower, and if we don’t leave now, Nana will wonder where Miss Lucille is come suppertime. “We should be heading back,” I say.
The hand on my shoulder drops to my elbow, then brushes low over the front of my shirt. I pull away out of habit, though her fingers aren’t in any danger of feeling anything they shouldn’t. Miss Lucille steps closer, absently picking at the buttons on my shirt, and her other hand joins the first to press flat against my belly. When she looks up at me, her lips are damp and her eyes twinkle wickedly. “Mr. Nat,” she murmurs.
Suddenly things have grown too serious, too fast. Trying to lighten the mood, I laugh and take another step back, but I bump into the side of the horse and can’t go any farther without being obvious about it. Miss Lucille closes the distance between us, pinning me in place.
“I thought we said no formalities when it’s just the two of us,” I remind her.
“Hmm.” Her eyes slip shut and she leans against me, her hands rubbing around my waist, her face still upturned. Waiting.
For what? For me?
No.
I want to—I do. But I can’t. I won’t. I shouldn’t…
I must hesitate too long, because Miss Lucille opens one eye and smirks at me. “You’re lucky I’m such a forward-thinking girl,” she says, the hint of laughter in her voice, “or I’d be easily offended.”
I let out a breath I don’t know I’m holding. “I don’t mean any offense, Miss—”
“Stop talking and kiss me already, Nat Allen,” she interrupts, her hands fisting in my shirt as she pulls me down.
My eyes wince shut as if preparing for impact—I don’t know what else to do. Then her mouth is on mine, her lips warm and damp. This isn’t a friendly peck on the cheek, or even a half-hearted smooch in the corner of my mouth. No, this is breathtaking, her mouth covering mine, her lips soft but determined. When mine part slightly, her tongue licks into me, faintly greasy from the fried chicken and as sugary sweet as the peach cobbler we shared.
I can’t help it; I kiss her back. What else am I supposed to do? My arms come up beneath hers and I hug her close as I lean into her, hungry for this moment and so much more. Her body is so warm against mine, her breasts full and firm like ripe peaches where they press into me. Then her hands ease up between us, toward my collar, her fingers searching, her tongue demanding, her lips opening like a blooming rose beneath mine…
I feel her thumb brush over my erect nipple through the shirt I wear, and the spark it sends through my body shatters the moment. Releasing her, I pull back, arms instinctively covering my chest. Did she feel anything else? Did she notice?
Her hair is a little disheveled, her lips swollen and red, as she looks at me with confusion bright in her eyes. “Nat?”
“We should really get going,” I say, my voice gruffer than I’d like. I straighten my hat and ease out from around her to circle the horse, putting it between us. If she felt my breasts, surely she would mention it, right? She’d want to know.
But she doesn’t say anything, and I’m too afraid to ask.
Chapter 22
If she’s angry with me for pulling away, she doesn’t show it. Instead, I get another kiss in front of the main house when I help her down from the cart, but this is just a brush of lips across my cheek, a far cry from the passionate lip lock earlier. After I put away the cart and return the horse to the stable, I head back into town, my thoughts hazy and incoherent. My mouth tingles where hers touched it, and I alternately shiver with delight and sweat with lust. I can’t wait to see her again, even if nothing comes of the day we spent together.
When I enter the boarding house, Charlie lays across the sofa in the parlor, dejected. Without saying hello, he launches into a tirade, as if I care to listen. “Do you know that man’s daughter wasn’t even home when I went calling this afternoon?”
I spare him a quick glance as I head upstairs. “Her name’s Lucille.”
H
e pushes up off the sofa and stumbles into the hall after me. “Lucille, Lucifer, it’s all the same to me,” he spits as he hurries up the stairs in my wake. “She was out with a friend, they told me. A friend! Out with another suitor, I bet. Her daddy goes out of town for a few days and her skirts fly up—”
“Don’t you talk about Miss Lucille like that!” I whirl to face him and he takes a step back, surprised at the anger he must see in my face. “So she isn’t one of your wilting wallflowers who’d rather stay at home waiting for a man to call on her. So she went out and enjoyed herself this afternoon. I’m sure she had a better time than she would’ve entertaining the likes of you.”
“How would you know?” Charlie’s eyes narrow, suspicious. “You’re the one who told me to call on her. You said—”
“I don’t have the energy to listen to you right now.” Turning, I take the remaining steps two at a time in a rush to reach my room.
Charlie stomps up after me. “You will listen! This was all your idea.”
At the door to my room, I fumble with my key in the darkened hallway. “I just told you to call on her, if you wanted to. I didn’t promise she’d receive you. She must’ve had something better to do.”
“Like what?” Charlie whines. “Where was she all blessed day?”
I throw him a sideways glance and can’t keep from smirking at his wounded countenance. “With me.”
Then I step into my room and shut the door quickly, locking it before he can recover from the shock of my announcement.
Chapter 23
Boss Daddy is due back Sunday evening. I spend the rest of the weekend in a daze, the memory of Miss Lucille’s kiss keeping me afloat. In my room, I try to read but the words swim away before my eyes and, before I know it, we’re at the creek again. Her body in my hands as lush as the grass beneath our feet. Her ripe breasts firm where they press into me. Her lips lingering on mine, her tongue licking into me. The two of us fitted perfectly together for one breathless moment of eternity.
But by the time Monday rolls around, I’ve managed to convince myself the kiss was friendly, nothing more. It can’t be anything more, because there’s nothing else between us, no matter how much I might desire it. She’s my boss’s daughter, and I’m not husband material. Hell, I’m not even a cowboy, not really. I simply dress the part.
I head out early to the ranch, each step mentally distancing me from Miss Lucille even as I move closer to where she lives. I will continue to be friendly with her, I decide, and though it hurts my heart to think of her with anyone else, with any man, I will encourage her to find the right suitor and settle down, because that’s what her daddy wants. And, I know, that’s what she wants, as well. She just needs to find someone who will fit into her idea of a spouse.
As much as I want that someone to be me, I know it isn’t.
The only thing indicating Boss Daddy is back is the flurry of frenzied activity in and around the main house. Windows are thrown wide, and maids totter on ladders to wash the dingy glass panes. A servant sweeps the porch, which wraps around the house completely, making it more of a chore than a job. Others plant new blooms in dark mulch patches in front of the porch—fresh flowers Boss Daddy brought home with him from wherever it was he went.
Around the back of the house, the cowboys are already saddling up. Chavez stands by the open barn door, shouting out assignments and duties as the men ride past. Another split-rail fence has fallen in the eastern field, and the waterhole to the north has become choked with weeds, and the steers in the lower thirty need to be rounded up for the next train heading to the slaughterhouse. I sidle up beside him and glance at the sheet of paper in his hand, but it’s covered in scribbling Spanish I can’t decipher.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
Chavez jumps as if spooked. He glances over his shoulder at me and visibly pales. “Big D wants you in his office this morning, ese. Pronto.”
A feeling of dread curls into the pit of my stomach. He knows about the picnic.
Damn. How’d he find out? Jonesy.
Clearing my throat, I push back my hat and frown at Chavez. “What’s this all about, do you know?”
With a shrug, Chavez admits, “I didn’t bother to ask, and he didn’t bother to tell me. Just said he wants to see you this morning before you start work. So ándale, señor.”
It’s the señor that hits me the hardest. Chavez has never been so formal with me before.
“Ándale!” he says again, giving me a shove towards the main house.
I hurry around the horses milling in the backyard, ignoring the hot stares of my coworkers watching me as I cross to the porch and head inside. In the kitchen, servants are busy cleaning up after breakfast, and the heat from the hearth rises a thin sheath of sweat across my brow. From her rocking chair in the corner, Nana gives me a stern look. Quickly I remove my hat, clutching it in both hands, and she nods in greeting.
To no one in particular, I explain, “Boss Daddy wants to see me.”
Before anyone can respond, I burst through the swinging door and into the much-cooler hallway. The bustle of activity continues here, with servants rolling up rugs for beating, dusting paintings and knick-knacks, hanging clean treatments for the windows. My heart is in my throat—I know this is about the picnic, I just know it is. Even though nothing happened, we should’ve had a chaperone. It wasn’t proper; I told Miss Lucille that, but did she listen? No.
And now I’m in trouble for it.
I hurry down the hallway to Boss Daddy’s study. The door is open, and I slow down as I approach. The edge of the large desk becomes visible, then the chair in front of the desk, then the humidor full of cigars always within easy reach. By the time I reach the doorway, I’m creeping forward, dreading…well, everything.
At the doorway, I peer around the corner. Boss Daddy sits behind the desk, his bulk straining his white dress shirt as he leans over a ledger scribbling something. The bolo tie at his neck looks as if it’s cinched too tight, an image enhanced by his red jowls and strained breathing. I can hear him saying something under his breath—it sounds as if he’s reading to himself, or maybe trying to figure out a budget, doing the math out loud. I clear my throat, but that doesn’t disturb him, so I reach out and tap my knuckles on the open door.
He jumps as if goosed, then glares at me. “Well, come on in, son,” he cries, voice booming in the quiet study. “Don’t linger out in the hall. That’s rude.”
“Sorry.” I sort of weasel my way into the room, making a dash for the chair in front of the desk. When I reach it, though, I realize he hasn’t asked me to sit, so I stand in front of it, toying with my hat with both hands.
Boss Daddy frowns, exasperated. “Down, will you? Quit hovering over me.”
I sit like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Perched on the edge of the chair, I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t. After an awkward silence, I dare to ask, “Chavez said you wanted to see me? Sir?”
The last word squeaks just slightly, and I clear my throat so it won’t happen again.
He continues to ignore me for another moment, concentrating on the ledger instead. My gaze darts around the room, seeking some clue as to why I’m here, but nothing stands out. It has to do with Miss Lucille, I just know it. I wish he’d say something already, punish me and get it over with. The wait is torture.
Finally he sets his pencil aside and shuts the ledger with a solid clap. Pushing it aside, he leans back until his chair squeaks beneath his weight, then folds his hands over his ample belly and studies me. No, stares at me, accusatory, and suddenly I feel the unreasonable urge to tell him everything that’s happened between me and his daughter—every flirtatious word, every touch, every kiss. I fight against the urge to fall to my knees and beg his forgiveness. I won’t do it again, I’d promise. Even though nothing really happened in the first place.
After a long moment, just as I’m about to crack, he lets out a long, low sigh. “Nat Allen,” he drawls. “That sta
nd for what, Nathan? Nathaniel?”
I open my mouth to answer, but he waves the questions aside. “No matter. You’re a good man, you know that, son? Hard worker, from what Chavez says. Never had any trouble with you.”
Before today, I think, almost hearing the words tacked onto the end of the sentence in his voice.
“You’re from where, back east?” he wants to know.
I lean forward and tell him, “Philly, sir. Philadelphia.”
A frown crosses his face. “And your family does what there, exactly?”
“My father’s a dentist,” I say.
Boss Daddy gives me a knowing nod. “Ah, I see. Didn’t want to follow in his footsteps, I take it?”
I sort of shrug and don’t mention that I’ve never heard of a woman dentist before. My father wasn’t pressuring me to go into a career; in fact, he wasn’t pressuring me to do anything at all. If he had never remarried after my mother’s death, I probably would have never left Philadelphia in the first place. But I wasn’t about to stand by idly and let the new wife make a lady out of me. I might’ve been born into the world of dresses and tea parties, but that didn’t mean I had to stay there forever.
Switching topics, Boss Daddy asks, “How’d you like ranching, son?”
Son. Every time he says the word, a shiver goes down my spine. What’s he mean by that, exactly?
I shrug again and mumble, “It’s all right. I don’t mind the work.”
He falls silent again, staring at me. Assessing me. I feel like one of his prized steers before being sent to the slaughterhouse. I want to ask him what this is all about, but I don’t dare.
With a resolute sigh, Boss Daddy sits up and plants both meaty elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled in front of his chin. “Well, I guess it could be worse. I know the picking’s slim here abouts, and I’ll be happy when this is all said and done. She could’ve done a lot worse.”
