The Seduction of Roxanne

by Linda Jones

  Now that she was here her mind was filled with should'ves. She should've worn gray or black. She should've come dressed in widow's weeds with her hair pulled severely back, instead of arranged in thick curls atop her head.

  She should've stayed home.

  Cyrus was unusually handsome this evening, dressed in a nice black suit and a white shirt that was stark against his tanned neck and face. She stood close enough to study the smoothness of his freshly shaved jaw, the taut muscles in his neck, the precise cut of his dark hair. As always, he had an air of one who was in command, of a man who could handle any situation. He wore his silver star on a vest beneath the black jacket, and when he moved just so it peeked out. Women stared admiringly, now and again, and with good reason. Cyrus seemed not to notice.

  She usually tried diligently not to stare at the scar on his face, but tonight she found it didn't bother her at all. The mark on his cheek wasn't a symbol of anything evil or disheartening, it was just a scar. Over time it had become a part of who he was, a feature of his face as surely as his nose was.

  Twice he had started to walk her over to Calvin Newberry and make introductions, but both times she'd stopped him, tugging on his arm and backing away. He followed her silent directions obediently, perhaps understanding that she wasn't ready. If the knots in her stomach were any indication, she might never be ready. Besides, Calvin was surrounded by a bevy of adoring young women, some of them Roxanne's own students. She would not make a fool of herself in front of the entire town, would not have her students laughing at her behind her back.

  After saying hello to several old friends, she and Cyrus piled two plates with meats and bread and vegetables and found a place to sit, a rather private table at a corner of the brick patio. The secluded spot was just right for her mood.

  What had she been thinking to come here with the intention of meeting a man? With her stomach twisting and knotting she could barely eat, and Cyrus was so silent he wasn't helping the situation at all. Where was his mindless chatter about the weather and her students? She could certainly use a little chitchat right now. Goodness, to look at Cyrus you'd think he was at a funeral instead of a party, and she didn't imagine she looked any cheerier than he did.

  Soon they had company. Merilee's oldest child, Mary Alice, was a rambunctious five-and-a-half years old. An adorable girl with pale blond hair and large brown eyes, she hefted a small plate to the table next to Cyrus's and climbed into the vacant chair at his side. Mary Alice was a friendly child who had never met a stranger, and she was never at a loss for words. Thank goodness!

  "I'm starving,” she said as she lifted her fork, her voice high-pitched and musical. “Edith Terry made me play all afternoon. She even tried to make me climb a tree, but I said no, Edith Terry, this is my very best dress. I can't be climbing no trees."

  It was clear, from a smudge of dirt on the smocking of her pink dress and the tiny tear in the lace at her throat and the small green leaf in her hair, that Mary Alice hadn't said no soon enough.

  Cyrus pointed his fork at the pile of green beans on the little girl's plate. “The beans are good.” He leaned slightly toward the child. “There's lots of good, tree-climbing energy in those beans.” His fork waggled above her plate. “And in the potatoes, too, and the ham.” He paused thoughtfully, studying the large serving of what was obviously the girl's favorite vegetable. “But especially in the beans,” he added.

  Mary Alice attacked her green beans with a decidedly unfeminine verve.

  Cyrus smiled down at the child, and in that moment his face softened—just a little—and Roxanne felt her heart and her resolve soften along with it. He should have little girls of his own, she decided. And little boys, too. He should live in a house full of children who would make him forget....

  She looked down at her plate and played with her own green beans. A friend, she reminded herself. Just a friend. If she'd allowed herself to get close to anyone during the past three years, she surely wouldn't be feeling so uncommonly possessive and ... and twittery about the sheriff. She was in the process of turning her life upside down, so it was only natural that she'd experience a few moments of irrational thought.

  That decided, she felt better. Calmer. She began to think that perhaps when she settled on a husband for herself she'd find a suitable wife for Cyrus.

  Before they had finished their meal a small band began to play. The house was large, but not quite spacious enough for this crowd, so party-goers began to dance on the lawn. The light of day was quickly fading, but lanterns hanging from trees and on sparsely placed posts provided enough illumination to see the dancers through the night, to light their untrained, joyous steps.

  Calvin Newberry was quickly claimed for a dance, and Roxanne sighed with relief. There wouldn't be another chance for introductions, not tonight. The handsome deputy was so popular she probably wouldn't even get the chance to speak to him. A cluster of beautiful young women waited nearby to claim the next dance and the next. Just as well; she evidently wasn't as ready to move on as she'd thought.

  As Mary Alice finished her supper, her mother appeared. Merilee was an attractive woman just a few years older than Roxanne. She had a pleasant round face with apple cheeks, and was blessed with thick, pale hair and a buxom figure. She stood not quite five feet tall.

  "Time for bed, Mary Alice,” she said sweetly, casting a quick glance to Roxanne and then to Cyrus.

  "No,” Mary Alice groaned. “I want to stay up for the party."

  Merilee leaned closer to her daughter. “Remember what I said?” she whispered. “Since you're the oldest you were allowed to attend the first few hours of the party. But now it's time for you to go upstairs and join your brother and sister and get to sleep."

  Mary Alice pouted. “They're babies. I'm not a baby.” She looked past her mother to the spirited crowd. “Besides, I want to dance."

  "You're too young to dance.” Merilee's patience was fading. “Now, up to bed with you."

  Mary Alice's eyes filled with tears that didn't fall, and her lower lip trembled threateningly. Merilee glanced around, perhaps looking for Hank to interfere before this quiet rebellion turned into a minor disaster.

  Cyrus placed his napkin aside and turned to the little girl. Roxanne wondered if he'd play the surrogate father and sternly order Mary Alice to obey her mother; she wondered if a command from the sheriff would frighten little Mary Alice into doing just as her mother asked.

  He surprised her. “Merilee,” he said, his eyes on Mary Alice as he spoke softly, “Might I have one dance with your lovely daughter before she retires for the evening?"

  Mary Alice's tears dried, and she turned an excited face to her mother. “Can I? Please? Oh, please let me dance with Sheriff Cyrus."

  In resignation, and perhaps relief, Merilee agreed.

  Cyrus stood and offered a gentlemanly hand to Mary Alice, who slipped from her chair and presented herself, head raised, at his feet. He took her small, soft hands in his and directed, in a low voice, that she should stand on his boots.

  She did, stepping up so that her white leather slippers rested atop his big black boots, as stark a contrast as her tiny, pale hands in his. Cyrus took a careful step, and Mary Alice smiled brightly. He took another step, and then another, and then a series of small, cautious steps that matched the music. Once, he spun around slowly, and Mary Alice giggled in delight.

  Watching Cyrus, whose attention was entirely on his tiny dance partner, Roxanne felt that strange tug at her heart again. He really did need a family of his own. A man like Cyrus would make a wonderful husband and father; she saw the tenderness he tried to hide, the heart he didn't easily reveal. Why hadn't he married? Scar or no scar, he was a fine-looking man. More than that, he was strong and valiant and gentle. What more could a woman ask from a man? She wasn't the only one who noticed Cyrus's attributes. He'd gotten his share of admiring looks this evening, though he certainly seemed oblivious to them.

  She forgot, for a moment, that he
was a lawman whose life would always be at risk, and simply admired him for what he was; a rare, good man.

  When the music ended he placed Mary Alice on her feet and bowed to her as any fine gentleman might. The child answered by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly on his unmarred cheek, and for a few seconds he was trapped there, leaning forward awkwardly with Mary Alice draped around his neck.

  Roxanne smiled. The smile came to her unexpectedly, wide and natural and unstoppable. What a sight the two of them made! Oh yes, Cyrus should definitely have little girls.

  With Merilee's help, Mary Alice's arms were disengaged from Cyrus's neck, and the little girl whispered an adoring “good night.” Cyrus might not know it, but he'd just made a friend for life.

  As Merilee and her daughter entered the house through the patio doors, Cyrus turned to face Roxanne and stopped dead in his tracks.

  "What is it?” he asked as he sat beside her.

  "What's what?"

  He leaned just a little bit closer. “Why are you smiling like that?"

  Oh, she must look a fool. In years past, Aunt Ada had often told her that her smile was too wide, too large, too much, and never ladylike. And she was not about to tell Cyrus that he looked adorable with a child hanging around his neck.

  "I've been watching your new deputy dance,” she said, taking a peek to make sure Calvin Newberry was, indeed, still dancing. He was. Badly. “He's rather clumsy, don't you think?"

  Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it,” he muttered.

  Together they watched the new deputy dance with a red-haired young lady who was one of Roxanne's better students. He did move rather awkwardly, always a half-beat behind. While the rest of the dancers moved closer together, a clearing grew around Calvin and his partner. Roxanne wondered how many people he'd already run over.

  "Do you still want to meet him?” Cyrus asked softly.

  "Of course. Being able to dance well isn't a requirement in my mind. But perhaps not.... “Not tonight, she'd planned to say. She never got the chance.

  Cyrus stood and offered his hand, silently asking her to dance. Wordlessly she laid her hand in his and rose from her seat. One dance wouldn't hurt anything, wouldn't change her mind or affect her plans in any way. Perhaps she did have inappropriate feelings for Cyrus, but that didn't mean she had to act on them. He was a friend, she reminded herself as he led her to the grassy dance floor. A friend, and nothing more.

  The music ended, and for a moment they stood there poised and waiting. She held her breath until the music began; a slow, simple waltz. Cyrus danced well, gracefully and with natural ease. So many of the men here were shorter than she, and most of the rest were about her height. But she had to tip her head back slightly to look at Cyrus as they danced.

  They moved well together, as if they'd danced before. The rightness of the dance made her slightly uneasy, but at the same time she didn't want to give this up. Not yet.

  It had been so long since she'd let a man touch her, hold her, she'd forgotten what it felt like; the warmth, the strength, the strange energy that sometimes swirled between a man and a woman. She felt and savored it all, ashamed and thrilled and guilty and elated, all at the same time. She'd been right in her silly musings; Cyrus's hands were strong and hard, and yet soft. Tender.

  She had to distract herself from these feelings before they got out of hand, and the best way to do that was to think about her plans. A fresh life with someone new, a home, a family. Once she'd settled on a husband, she'd have to see about finding a wife for Cyrus. Her eyes flitted over the dimly lit dance area, looking for possible candidates.

  Rose Wells was a war widow, like herself, and would make someone a fine wife. Jane Rice might be only twenty, but she was a levelheaded young woman and eleven years difference wasn't really too much, not if the parties were well suited. In her mind there were several women in town who might make Cyrus a suitable wife.

  What would he think of them? He'd been a ladies’ man of sorts before the war, but since his return he hadn't courted a single woman that she knew of. Surely he wanted what she did: a home, children. Someone to hold at night; someone with whom to cry and laugh.

  As he spun her around she could see it too well; everything she wanted, everything Cyrus surely wanted as well. “All this work just to find me a husband,” she said, her voice purposely light. “Well, when we're done with my matrimonial plans we'll work on you."

  He literally twitched in her arms. “What?"

  "We'll find you a wife, someone—"

  "No,” he interrupted in a low, harsh voice. “I don't plan to get married."

  She locked her eyes to his. “Never?"

  "Never,” he whispered, his voice so dark and determined she believed him instantly.

  "Why not?"

  For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. His lips formed a hard straight line, his jaw tensed, his eyes glittered. Even his hands were somehow harsher, more remote. “Seems to me the only reason to get married is if you want a family, and I don't."

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Why not?"

  He didn't hesitate this time. “Kids,” he said. “When they're little they're noisy and bothersome, and when they grow up they're impertinent and annoying. Most folks I know who have kids just go from one crisis to another."

  "Well, that's not necessarily true,” Roxanne said softly. She'd just watched him dance, so sweetly, with Mary Alice. He couldn't really believe that children were nothing but a ... a bother. “In your profession you do see the worst side of folks at times, I suppose, but there's more to family than enduring one crisis after another."

  "Christ almighty,” he whispered. “I take care of this whole damn town. Isn't that enough? What, you think I need a house full of sniveling kids to come home to at the end of a long day? No thank you. I live alone and I like it that way, so keep those nasty little matchmaking thoughts to yourself."

  She swallowed. Hard. This was the most he'd said at one time all evening, so he must feel rather strongly about the subject. “You have a rather harsh idea of what family life is like."

  He locked his eyes to hers, and she experienced a little jolt of awareness. Her heart beat fast, her breath came shallow, her hand—cradled easily in Cyrus's own large hand—seemed to tingle and grow warm. She was suddenly acutely aware, once again, of his palm against hers, of the roughness of his skin and the gentle way his fingers folded over hers.

  He came to a standstill, and as Roxanne looked around she realized that all this time, during this entire dance, he'd been working his way across the lawn to Calvin Newberry. The music stopped, and Cyrus spun around to face his newest deputy.

  "Newberry,” he said in a businesslike voice that immediately commanded the younger man's attention. “I'd like you to meet Roxanne Robinette. Roxanne, this is Calvin Newberry."

  Calvin's startling blue eyes lit up as he smiled. “Is this the lady you wanted me to meet?"

  "Yes,” Cyrus whispered as he moved away and left Roxanne standing before Calvin Newberry.

  Oh, this was a mistake. Her heart stuck in her throat, and complete and total fear washed through her as she looked up at the grinning, handsome man. Whatever had made her think she could even consider marrying again? Why had she made a fool of herself over a man's pretty face? She should be home nursing Ada, not standing here staring dumbly at a complete stranger.

  But the music began again and Cyrus backed away and the beautiful Calvin asked, “How ‘bout a dance?"

  * * * *

  He'd been hiding here, in the relative safety of the shadows, since Roxanne had begun her first dance with Calvin. During their second dance he'd made his way to the refreshments and poured himself a stiff shot of whiskey. During the third he'd fetched the bottle.

  Between dances with Calvin, Roxanne visited with old friends, and searched the crowd for Cyrus. At least, Cyrus imagined she was searching for him when she lifted her head and raked her eyes over the throng of party guests.
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  He'd played the nice guy enough for one night, dammit. He'd introduced her to Calvin; he'd done what was right for her. Not once had he buried his nose in her hair and told her she smelled of sunshine and flowers. Not a single time had he laid his lips on her tempting neck, or her soft cheek, or that wide luscious mouth. He'd been tempted, dammit. He'd been tempted more than once.

  He lifted the bottle and took a good long swig, wishing he could get drunk. It wasn't working.

  If he'd had any doubts about what he was doing, the smile had killed them all. How long had it been since he'd seen Roxanne smile like that? Years. Many, many years. She didn't smile like other women, all soft and demure and somehow secretive. She smiled with her entire face, broadly and unrestrained. God, he loved the way she smiled.

  From his hiding place behind a wide oak tree, he saw Calvin and Roxanne come together for another dance. Calvin stumbled slightly and Roxanne smiled again; not as widely as before, but it was still a rare smile for Roxanne. Cyrus tipped the bottle back and wished he could get good and drunk.

  He hoped he'd managed to kill any ideas she had about finding him a wife. Heaven forbid. What woman would want a husband who had nightmares that woke him up in a terrified sweat, memories that kept him awake while the rest of the town slept? Besides, there had been more than a grain of truth in his protest. The last thing he needed was something else to tie him to this place; someone else to take care of.

  A very slight tugging at his pants leg distracted him. He looked down and there was Mary Alice. Dressed in her nightclothes and with her long blond hair braided down her back, it was obvious that she'd sneaked from her bed for another glimpse of the party she'd been banned from.

  "What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to sound just a little bit austere.

  "I couldn't sleep,” she whispered. “I looked out my window and saw you standing here, and I just wanted to know why you're hiding."

  "I'm not hiding,” Cyrus said, sternly and softly.

  Mary Alice looked at the wide-trunked tree that shielded them both from the rest of the party, then behind them at the deeper shadows. “Yes you are,” she said matter-of-factly.