Romance in the Rain

by Anthology

  He took it and promptly settled it around her shoulders again. “I thank you, but I’m not cold.” He reached for her hand. “Mattie, why do you want to return to Indiana?”

  Her usual defensive hackles rose at the question. Neither Helene nor Magnus ever accepted her answer; Magnus dismissed her reasoning and Helene always had a counterargument, always tried to convince her to stay.

  James squeezed her hand and smiled his charming smile. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know—you don’t like the weather.”

  She could take his words as teasing but his gaze, sincere and understanding, never left her face. He respected her right not to share her reasons. A heat that had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with compassion coiled through her chest.

  “I never wanted to come out here in the first place.” She did her best to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t want James’s pity, just his understanding. “But my husband Daniel did. He was so excited by the prospect—free land, the Pacific Ocean, a new frontier. I’m afraid he inherited his father’s wanderlust. I wasn’t so keen to go, but… I never said so.” She’d never been good at voicing her fears, not to Daniel anyway. “I did confide in my mother and the next thing I knew my brother Will decided to come with us. I appreciated how she thought I might be comforted by having a family member along—until Will died from cholera.”

  “And then how did you feel?”

  Good, he hadn’t gushed with sympathy. “I was angry with her and even angrier with Daniel for heading west.”

  “Angry or afraid?” He gave her a long look, his green eyes shimmering in the emerging moonlight.

  Mattie took a deep breath. “Afraid, very afraid. Because I was with child.” She rushed on with her story, precluding any more comments from James. Yes, he was understanding, but why did that make her ache? She changed her mind—if she could just make him pity her she wouldn’t like him half so much and the aching would stop. “I became sick after Will, and the baby came early. Two or three months early. I held him in my arms while he took a few pitiful breaths. Daniel buried him somewhere west of the Rocky Mountains and we moved on. Then—”

  “What did you call your son?”

  Darn. Mattie squeezed her eyes shut as tears sprang up. Even Daniel had never brought up the subject of a name for their child. She sniffled and swallowed. She had to compose herself, for they were almost to the Jensens’ cabin. “William, after my brother. We had gotten across the treacherous Rockies but then one day Daniel was imbibing and trying to drive the wagon. He stood up, lost his balance, and was crushed beneath the wheels.” She drew in one more steady breath. “While I am grateful for the friendship and hospitality of the Jensens and Helene, I just want to return home.”

  James stopped, keeping hold of her hand. With his other, he tipped her chin up so she had to look at his serious face. “You are a brave woman, Mattie Jensen, and I would be honored to escort you back to your family in Indiana.”

  She stepped back and yanked her hand away. “No.”

  His brow furrowed. “Did the family you visited today offer to take you?”

  “No. They’ve decided to stay.” Why did her voice sound so small? And why had she answered honestly? A simple yes would have silenced him.

  “I’m going back. It would make sense if you came with me. We would surely find others to join our party in Portland, so the proprieties could be observed.”

  “I thank you for your offer but I must refuse.” She turned and walked briskly toward the Jensens’ cabin, which was just fifty yards away.

  Traveling thousands of miles with James Caldwell? She couldn’t possibly. He made her feel…

  That was just it—he made her feel and that was the last thing she wanted. She’d been numb for nine months and she wanted to carry on that way. She didn’t want him holding her hand, kissing her neck, asking the name of her baby, calling her “brave.” She didn’t even want to see him again while she was still here. She wanted to go home and become a reclusive widow.

  “Why not?” The words boomed past her, more like an accusation than a question.

  God forbid he accept her answer. His lordly highness must know why. She planted her foot and turned around, hands on her hips. “You can’t even survive in the wilderness without your servant, Mr. Caldwell, and yet you expect me to undertake the most brutal of journeys and entrust my welfare to you? I think not. Good night, sir.”

  She whirled back around and stalked off, pretending she hadn’t seen him flinch.

  Chapter 4

  Good riddance. That’s what James wanted to believe. He was free of Mathilda Anne Porter Jensen at last. He had offered his assistance; she had refused.

  The trek back was dark and hazardous. James tripped more times then he cared to count, adding to his scratches and scrapes. Not to mention his left boot, riddled with fang marks, was uncomfortable. Still, his mind wouldn’t budge from the singular subject of one difficult woman.

  Entrust my welfare to you? Hadn’t she just done that? Had he not saved her from being savaged by coyotes? Or, at the very least, saved her half-boots from being gouged like his?

  He stumbled into the tent, still muttering and cursing. Tilford sat on one of the stools, fingering a pink ribbon and staring at a photograph. Miss Stover, no doubt. He made as if to stand, but James waved him back.

  Tilford remained seated, but his black eyebrows rose. “My word, sir! What has happened to you?”

  James perched on the other stool and yanked off his ruined boot. “Nothing much. Went hunting, caught a woman instead of a deer, saved her life, let coyotes chomp on my boots rather than my feet, took the woman home, offered to fulfill her dearest wish, was refused in a most ungracious manner. And for God’s sake, stop calling me sir.” Tilford’s obsequiousness was beginning to annoy him.

  Tilford slid the ribbon and photograph into his pocket.

  James shook his head. “Don’t hide them. Tell me about your evening, which looks to have gone much better than mine.”

  “Mrs. Jensen?” Tilford asked, ignoring James’s request.

  “Yes,” James bit off. “Enough about her. I want to hear about Miss Stover.”

  Tilford succumbed to speaking of his lady love and eventually drifted off to sleep. James stared into the darkness, angry with himself, for instead of concentrating on the contemptuous look Mattie Jensen had given him, all he could think about was the sweet taste of her skin and the sorrowful look on her face when she’d talked about her trip out here.

  The next six days crawled by. The party of men arrived from the settlement once more and James threw himself into building the cabin. By the end of the first day, the structure had four walls and three-quarters of a roof. James sent Carson Boren and his men home with profusions of gratitude and the promise of a feast, just as soon as he successfully stalked a deer.

  The rain and clouds returned, but at least now James and Tilford had a roof to sleep under. During the day they worked on finishing the cabin as best they could. Around noon each day, Helene would arrive with a small loaf of bread or a few jam biscuits to share. James would take himself off to the tent, which they hadn’t taken down yet, while Tilford and Helene enjoyed a tête-à-tête. Once there, he worked on finishing the chair he was making for Tilford. When he glanced out the flap one day and saw Tilford gently kissing Helene, James began fashioning a second chair.

  He did not see Mattie Jensen at all. His mood was most foul.

  He had tried his best not to make Tilford the target of his temper, but wasn’t often successful. Especially when Tilford sat in passive silence while James informed him the Exact was due to arrive in Seattle in eight days and that he, James, intended to sail to Portland on her. He talked at length about how he intended to return to Maryland and yet Tilford said not one word about what he wanted to do. The man was too loyal to speak his own mind, but James had quietly begun a campaign to get Tilford into a position where he would feel free to make his own choice.

 
At last he shot a deer and prepared the venison. The clouds cleared, the sun made an appearance, and Tilford, in the company of Helene, spread the word about the feast, inviting all who had helped build the cabin and even some who hadn’t.

  James had spent the previous day making a rough-hewn table and had situated it in front of the imposing view of Mount Rainier. Now he carried the roasted haunch of venison toward the table.

  “Let me do that, sir,” Tilford called.

  “I’m perfectly capable. And don’t call me sir.” He set the roast down, not daring to look at Tilford. When would the man crack?

  Tilford walked away and James finished loading the table with food—salmon and trout to accompany the venison; bread made by Miss Stover and her sister; mussels and fish from Small Lake; roasted wapato, a potato-like tuber, and boiled camas bulbs, both of which James had gotten in a trade with the Duwamish Indians.

  The first of their guests began to arrive and the meadow came alive with talk and laughter. James had extended an invitation to the Jensen family through Helene, but hadn’t expected Mattie to show up. And she hadn’t. Which was just fine.

  The conversation flitted from tales of how each family had arrived in the area to lively discussions of the town plat Mr. Denny and Mr. Boren were planning to the recounting of adventures they’d all had since their arrival.

  Twilight approached and the mountain began to look grey and forbidding. Three fires were built up for warmth and light. One of the men broke out a violin. Dancing, comprised of rambunctious country movements, ensued. James played the polite host and danced with Helene Stover and a few of the other women.

  He’d just taken a long swig of ale when a small group of newcomers arrived—Mattie and her in-laws, Magnus and Oda Jensen. With a sigh he approached the three of them and introduced himself.

  Magnus Jensen, a man of average height and build but startling blue eyes, shook James’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Mr. Caldwell. We thank you for your hospitality in inviting us.”

  His wife had the same pretty features as her sister Helene, but her hair was a pale blonde and her smile more tentative. She lifted a hand toward Mattie. “I believe you are acquainted with the other Mrs. Jensen?”

  James slid his gaze over to Mattie. She was back to staring at her boots. Her hair was amassed atop her head with one silken tendril cascading down each of her cheeks. It was difficult to discern in the fading light, but her lowered lashes seemed to glisten as if she’d been crying. Her brother-in-law must have forced her to come. James wished for once she would have stood up for herself. After insulting him, she had no business intruding here.

  “Indeed,” he replied, hating the bitterness in his voice. She’d come, despite clearly not wanting to see him. A nasty streak of vengeance snuck up on him. “Dance with me, Mrs. Jensen.”

  Mrs. Oda Jensen’s eyes lit up and for a moment James thought he’d made a hasty mistake with two Mrs. Jensens before him. But she slipped her arm around Mattie’s shoulders and steered her forward. “She would take great pleasure in doing so, Mr. Caldwell.”

  He was a hair’s breadth away from feeling sorry for Mattie, but he smothered the emotion. She had a voice; he knew it well. If she chose not to use it now, that was her own fault. He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the group dancing to a rousing beat. They fell into line and Mattie reluctantly took his arm.

  As he spun her in a circle, James said, “You haven’t left Seattle yet.”

  She didn’t answer. They changed partners and when they met again, they proceeded down the line. She wasn’t the best dancer. James could see how hard she was concentrating on the steps.

  If he were in a charitable mood, he would let her focus. Instead, when they linked arms next he said, “You are losing precious days. Soon it will be too late to undertake traveling across the country.”

  They hopped, danced a short jig, and then circled holding hands once more. A warm red flush crept up her cheeks. The healthy glow enlivened her pretty face. But then she lifted her eyelids, revealing brown eyes drowning in misery. James bit back the urge to soften.

  They changed partners and then her hands, soft and trembling, were back in his. Yes, he could feel her shaking. He tightened his jaw, unwilling to bend.

  “You are running out of time too,” she mumbled to her boots.

  He heard her though. The music stopped but James didn’t let go of her hands. “Oh, but I’m not. I leave on the Exact in three days and then from Portland I’ll sail to the east coast. After all, I wouldn’t be able to survive a trip by land.”

  What little life there’d been in her deflated like a hot air balloon. James couldn’t believe she didn’t have a retort at the ready. He’d expected a rejoinder, despite her sour mood.

  Just then the violinist put bow to string and a lyrical waltz floated across the meadow. The other dancers either bowed out or paired off; Tilford and Helene were of course part of the latter group. Mattie tried to rip her hands free, but it was easy enough for James to hold onto them. What’s more, he jerked her closer and anchored her waist with one hand while keeping a firm grip with his other, not giving her a choice of whether to continue dancing with him or not.

  And that despicable thought brought him up short. James released her and stepped back. Mattie deserved a choice. Everyone did, but most especially those who were unfortunately limited in their choices—Tilford, Helene, Mattie.

  “My apologies.” He turned to go but her soft whisper stopped him.

  “Mr. Caldwell, would you please waltz with me? I’ve always wanted to, but never had the opportunity.”

  At last she faced him, her still-moist eyes turned up, her lower lip sucked in as if she were unsure what his answer would be. The other couples were already twirling around them. Whatever her reason, she had asked him and he wasn’t going to refuse her. James offered his hand and she took it with lightning speed, whipping her other hand up to rest on his shoulder.

  They glided in time to the music, despite the mossy meadow not being as smooth as the tiled floors James had danced on in England. Mattie seemed lighter on her feet this go-round, though it probably helped that he applied pressure to her hip to guide her. As they spun around, the flames from the fires streaked an orange glowing path through the navy darkness. James concentrated on the top of Mattie’s head to ward off the dizzying effect of their revolutions.

  Then she looked up at him and he became light-headed anyway. For the first time since he’d met her, her features were relaxed, her eyes not so much sparkling as merely luminous, but the difference was astounding. She was enjoying this dance and it showed. A serious Mathilda Jensen was handsome enough; a delighted Mattie Jensen was alluring. Nearly sinful. Or capable of making him think sinful things.

  Oh, to pull her close and kiss her; he’d never got to feel those lips when they were stuck in the tree. He could run his thumb along the fullness of the bottom one, draw it down just enough so that when he kissed her he could slide his tongue right into the sweet heat of her.

  “Would it be possible to speak with you privately?”

  Was she reading his mind? “Ah, certainly. If you wish.”

  He lengthened his steps, widened the circles they turned, and in a blink they were on the far side of the small cabin. The night closed in on them here. Nature’s chorus—frogs and crickets—joined their voices with the now muted violin notes.

  Mattie withdrew from their dancing embrace and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. A pretty dress it was too, soft blue patterned with tiny, darker blue flowers. She lifted her chin and looked at him intently, no longer the enraptured woman he’d just waltzed with. “James, I am sorry for what I said to you last week.”

  Ah yes, he was supposed to still be angry with her. There was a question he wanted answered. “Why were you crying when you arrived?”

  She started in surprise, but answered without hesitation. “I was upset about hurting you. I never should have—”

&nbs
p; He grabbed her by the waist, tugging her flush and lowering his mouth to hers. Apparently lust trumped anger. Her lips were soft in surprise but after a moment she coiled her arms around his neck, stretched onto her tiptoes, and kissed him back with a passion that had him staggering backward a step before he could widen his stance and balance himself.

  God, if he’d known Mattie Jensen would kiss like this…

  There was so much of her he hadn’t touched yet. His hands delved into her hair and began mindlessly removing pins. Soon the dark tresses cascaded down her arched back and he could run his fingers through them with pleasure. Though he didn’t think it possible, she pressed herself closer, clearly undaunted by his erection.

  He managed to break away for a split second. “Mattie, darling.”

  If—and he wasn’t entirely certain—he was pleading for an end to the insanity, she would brook no surrender. Her hot lips traveled to the side of his neck, where she nipped him with her teeth repeatedly.

  His internal temperature shot up to boiling. He slid his hand down to her breast and thumbed the hard nipple. A moan reverberated in her chest and she stopped her assault, but only long enough to go back to kissing him, her tongue thrusting into his mouth.

  He was about to lay her down on the meadow’s mossy floor when the whispered voice broke out of the darkness.

  “Mattie?”

  It was Helene, however it didn’t sound as though she had rounded the corner of the cabin. Mattie jumped away from him, her eyes dark and dangerous. James wanted to tell the rest of the people to go home so he could take Mattie inside and see just how many ways she could surprise him.

  “Yes, I’m coming, Helene. N-nature called.”

  “I’ll wait here then.” James wasn’t certain but he thought Helene might be giggling, as if she knew it was a passionate nature which had called Mattie.