by Linda Jones
"I got tired of dancing,” he lied.
"Oh.” She looked up at him, and he could see the hurt in her eyes.
"After all,” he said, trying to mend the damage he'd unintentionally done, “You were my very best dance partner tonight, and once you went to bed.... “He spread his arms wide in the universal sign of surrender, bottle in one hand.
Mary Alice giggled softly, covering her mouth with a tiny hand to silence her soft outburst.
"How about one more dance,” he whispered, setting the bottle of whiskey on the ground. The place he chose wasn't quite flat, and almost immediately the bottle tipped over, spilling the remains of the whiskey into the ground. Just as well, Cyrus decided without attempting to save any of the liquor. He'd had enough for tonight. More than enough.
The child took his hands and stepped onto his boots with her little bare feet. They barely moved, but it was a dance, of sorts, as he stepped this way and that. Mary Alice, balanced on his boots, felt so light it was almost as if she wasn't really here, as if he were dancing with air. Her hands rested in his, fragile and delicate and unerringly trusting. And what a smile she had; not even six years old and already you could see the heartbreaker in that smile.
When the music ended she stepped carefully from his boots, and this time as he bowed to her she curtseyed with great formality, taking the edge of her nightgown between two little fingers and dipping down gently. Already she was a perfect little lady. More than that, in her bare feet and crisp nightdress she was a perfect example of what was good and right in the world.
Instead of immediately righting himself, Cyrus lowered himself to the ground and leaned his back against the tree. He didn't really want to watch Roxanne and Calvin dance, didn't want to see her smile at him; not right now.
Mary Alice took a seat beside him and leaned against the tree herself, in an obvious attempt to copy his pose. There was just enough light from the lantern that hung on the opposite side of the tree to illuminate their hiding place; she the misbehaving runaway, he the reluctant matchmaker.
After a few moments, Cyrus whispered. “You'd better get back to bed before anyone realizes you're gone."
"I know.” Mary Alice's tone of voice was resigned and very grown up, in spite of the high pitch. “If I get caught, I'll be in big trouble.” Still, she made no immediate move to leave.
"You'd better run along, then,” Cyrus suggested, closing his eyes and listening to the music that was so near and yet so faint.
Mary Alice wasn't content to slip back to bed as quietly as she'd slipped away. Without warning she piled onto Cyrus's lap. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring into big brown eyes mere inches from his.
"Goodnight, Sheriff Cyrus,” she whispered.
"Goodnight, Mary Alice. Thanks for the dance."
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek with lips as soft and light as butterfly wings passing by. And then, instead of climbing off his lap and running off to bed like a good little girl, she settled two delicate hands on his cheeks. The palm of one hand rested over the scar on his left cheek, and that's where her eyes went; to that damn ugly scar.
She tilted her head to the side and ran her fingertips over the tough ridge that marked his face. “Does it hurt?” she whispered.
So matter-of-fact, so casual.
"No,” Cyrus said honestly. “Not anymore."
"That's good,” Mary Alice said, and she sounded truly relieved.
No one, but himself and doctors long ago, had touched his face since he'd been wounded. Until now. Those gentle hands on his cheeks made him want to scream, to push the little girl and her good intentions away. But he didn't move, he hardly even breathed as her fingers explored the tough scar tissue.
"My Mama says a kiss makes everything better,” she said as she raked her tiny fingers over his scar.
"Is that a fact?"
Instead of answering, Mary Alice removed her hands from his face and kissed him again, this time on his ravaged cheek. She didn't seem to find anything repulsive in the innocent gesture; it was simply a kiss to make everything better.
Cyrus found himself wishing that life could be, just for a while, as uncomplicated for him as it was for Mary Alice.
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Chapter Five
Calvin was as beautiful up close as he was from a distance, and this near, dancing with him once again, Roxanne admired the full potency of his startling blue eyes. He had a nice smile, too, and good white teeth and wondrously thick blond curls and even features that might have been carved on a marble statue, a study in perfection.
Unfortunately, he didn't say much. In fact, he'd been so quiet, she felt that even though she'd danced with Calvin Newberry several times she didn't know him any better than when she'd seen him ride past on his horse.
Calvin spun around and bumped into Thomas Eakin, and the impact sent Thomas and his partner Rose reeling for a moment. No one hit the ground, however, and after a very quiet but heartfelt apology from Calvin the dance resumed.
Where was Cyrus? Roxanne searched the dance area as Calvin very cautiously twirled her about again. She couldn't help but notice how the dance area cleared around them as they moved, thanks to Calvin's tendency to bowl over everything in his path. Her steps automatically followed his, as her eyes raked over the crowd. Cyrus was nowhere to be seen, and she could feel the beginnings of a frown and an accompanying headache coming on. She shouldn't be concerned. He might be inside, sipping whiskey and smoking a cigar while he chatted with a group of politically minded men. He was the sheriff, after all, and might even have been called away on an emergency.
Then again, perhaps he had found a woman to spend the evening with, and was at this very moment in a dark secluded spot sharing kisses and whispered promises. His voice would be low and soft and enchanting, his hands would be strong and gentle as they held the woman he kissed.
The headache and the frown hit Roxanne full force.
As the music ended and Calvin released her, she caught a glimpse of Cyrus moving from the shadows. Ha! So her musings had been right. She had a mind to march over there and tell Cyrus Bergeron exactly what she thought about his shenanigans ... and, of course, to catch a view of whatever woman waited on the other side of that tree.
A deep breath restored her senses. What Cyrus did was none of her concern. She'd already deemed him unsuitable as a husband, and besides ... he was too much a part of the past, too much of a reminder of who she'd once been. Calvin was new, and if she was to have the life she wanted, perhaps he would be a part of it. She just wished he would talk more so she'd know if they were compatible or not.
"It's been lovely,” she said, working up a small smile for Calvin. It wasn't easy; in fact, the effort made her face hurt. “But I'm afraid I must be heading home, now."
She wondered if he would offer to walk with her, and wondered just as well what she would say if he did. There was no reason to worry about her response; Calvin just bowed and said in his soft Tennessee voice,
"It's been a pleasure, ma'am."
Roxanne made her way to Cyrus, who stood leaning against the tree she'd seen him step from behind. He appeared to be so calm, so casual. His eyes, as she drew closer, told her nothing, darn his stoic hide. Was there a woman behind that tree? She tried to crook her neck to see more, without being obvious, but she saw nothing.
"Where have you been?” she asked, softly and yet more harshly than she'd intended. She took a very small step to the side and tilted her head slightly, in a sly attempt to get a better look behind that tree.
Cyrus raised his eyebrows, in an apparent combination of amusement and confusion. “I've been dancing."
She saw nothing behind the tree, not even a flash of color to suggest a full skirt, no hint of movement. Still, she was certain she was right. Cyrus had been dancing with some woman in the shadows, perhaps holding his partner too close, stealing kisses. What other reason was there to dance in secret? Her heart sank. �
�Would you take me home?” She tried to be pleasant and reserved, but her efforts were useless. She sounded tired and petulant.
"Is everything all right?” he asked as he moved away from the tree to join her.
She started to lie, to tell him that everything was fine. “I have a headache,” she said.
Without another word he took her arm and together they said goodbye to Merilee and Hank and a dozen other people they passed on their way across the lawn and through the house. They didn't say goodbye to Calvin, who was engaged in an energetic dance with a young lady who was being flung about very much like a rag doll.
Moments later, she felt great relief to be down the street, away from the music and the noise and the crush of people. She slowed her step and took a deep breath of the cool night air, and her headache miraculously vanished. Cyrus slowed his step to match hers, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head in her direction.
"Well?” he prodded before they'd gone far. “What did you think of Calvin?"
"He's very.... “she searched for words that would be truthful and kind. She couldn't very well tell Cyrus that in spite of his efforts she still didn't know Calvin Newberry at all, and she couldn't very well tell him that after their one waltz, dancing with Calvin had been less than wonderful. How could she have known that one dance with Cyrus would spoil her for anyone else? She made herself remember what he'd said during that dance, about marriage and children and family ... everything she wanted.
"He's nice,” she finally said. “Polite, and handsome, and very agreeable."
A non-committal humming noise rose from the throat of the man beside her.
"He didn't talk much, though,” she added. “So I can't say that I really got to know him well."
Cyrus just nodded.
"What about you?” Roxanne asked casually. “Who did you spend the evening dancing with? I swear, I didn't even catch a glimpse of you until I was ready to leave. Why, one might think you had something, or someone, to hide,” she said teasingly, waiting for his answer, his reaction.
There was no immediate response.
"So,” she prodded. “Who was she? Who was the woman you were dancing with behind that tree?” The last of her limited patience fled, as a rush of something akin to anger rushed through her blood. “You were dancing back there, weren't you?” Dancing or ... something else.
"A gentleman never tells,” he offered softly and with a teasing lilt.
Roxanne emitted an uncontrollable, hot-tempered huff. She shouldn't have bothered attending Merilee's party. The entire evening had been a waste of time. She didn't know Calvin any better than she had before, and at the moment she was just incredibly frustrated. Frustrated and irritated and ... well, she couldn't be jealous. She absolutely, positively, couldn't be.
But the very idea of Cyrus dancing intimately with some unknown woman in the shadows made her blood boil. If only she couldn't see it so well; the way Cyrus would tower over his secret lady friend, the way he would touch her and whisper in that pleasant voice of his, his mouth so close to her ear she would no doubt feel his breath on her skin. Roxanne shivered.
Too soon they were at the gate of her uncle's house, and Cyrus was telling her, very politely and distantly, goodnight.
What would he say if she reached out, took his face in her hands, and kissed him? Just once, just to know what it felt like. Perhaps there was no future for them, perhaps he didn't want the same things from life she did, but that didn't mean they couldn't share one innocent kiss, just to satisfy her curiosity.
"Goodnight,” she said without giving in to the ridiculous notion. With her head high, she walked to the front door without looking back.
Cyrus sat by the window, wondering if Roxanne would come out tonight or if she already slept peacefully in her bed. He hadn't even undressed yet, didn't know why he should bother. If he slept, it would only be fitful bits and pieces filled with dreams he couldn't bear.
For a wild moment, as he'd been walking Roxanne home and she'd asked about his secret dance partner, he'd had the ridiculous notion that she was jealous. He quickly put it aside. Roxanne was just curious, that's all, like all women. Maybe he should've told her that he'd been dancing with Mary Alice again, that there was only one woman he wanted to hold, that his one dance with her had been more wonderful than he'd even imagined. No. Touching her, even so innocently, wasn't the way to cure his obsession. Telling her the truth was out of the question.
Roxanne wouldn't laugh at him; she had too much class for that. But he was sure she would feel sorry for him, the pathetic scarred man who had no right to so much as dream about beautiful women like her.
She wanted beauty and safety, and she would eventually find both with Calvin Newberry. Of this he was certain.
The figure that passed by his window startled him and interrupted his bitter musings. What the hell was Newberry doing on this street? The passing shadow of a man was definitely Calvin, unmistakable in his broad brimmed white hat and the butternut duster that flapped around his long legs.
Maybe he was going to call on Roxanne. In the middle of the night? Cyrus rose from his chair just as Calvin walked past the window again ... heading in the opposite direction.
Cyrus threw open his front door. “Newberry,” he snapped. “What the hell are you doing?” One look at the young man's confused face, and Cyrus had his answer. Calvin was lost again, trying to find his way home.
He stifled a groan as he opened his front door wide and asked the deputy to come inside.
"I think I took a wrong turn back thataway,” Calvin said, motioning with a finger as Cyrus closed the door.
"You want a drink?” Cyrus lit a lamp and set it on the single table in this simply furnished room. A soft light was cast on Calvin's beautiful face as the man removed his hat.
"No, thanks. I reckon I've had enough already tonight."
"Me, too,” Cyrus confessed. He wasn't drunk, but he certainly felt the effects of too much whiskey. His head swam, ever so slightly, and his eyelids drooped heavily.
"If you'll just point me in the direction to the boarding house,” Calvin said as he wrung the brim of his hat. “I'd be right grateful."
"Sure.” Cyrus folded his arms across his chest. “But first, why don't you tell me how things went with Roxanne tonight?"
Even in the dim light, he saw Calvin blush. “She's right purty, ain't she?"
"Yes, she is,” Cyrus agreed lifelessly.
"And a fine dancer,” Calvin added.
Cyrus nodded once.
Calvin screwed up his nose in an almost childish manner. “I tried not to say much, on account of I didn't want to sound stupid. Roxanne seems kinda smart."
"She is,” Cyrus said impatiently. “She's a teacher."
"I know.” Calvin gestured with his hat. “I never had me a schoolteacher that looked like Roxanne. Why, all my teachers was ugly old maids ‘cept for this one prissy perfessor fella that moved in—"
"Newberry,” Cyrus interrupted. “Did you like her?"
Calvin gave this some thought and finally nodded his head vigorously ... rather like a snorting horse. “I like her right fine. She's purty and agreeable and I reckon I could learn to live with a smart woman, if it come to that."
Cyrus glanced through the window toward the Pierson house. With the light burning in this room, he couldn't see if Roxanne was sitting on her balcony or not. “Well, if you expect anything to come of this you're going to have to talk to her."
Calvin shuffled his feet. “I know that, but purty women make me a bit tongue-tied. I open my big mouth and say something dumb, or else nothing but gibberish comes out. In my head, the words are all right, but when I say them out loud they jest don't sound the same as I mean for ‘em to. It's right embarrassin'."
"I imagine it is,” Cyrus muttered.
"If I could just talk to Roxanne without actually looking at her ... maybe talk to her from a distance or close my eyes and pretend she's not really there or some
thing,” Calvin suggested dreamily. “Then maybe I could be as smart as she is."
Cyrus glanced to the window and the darkness beyond, and a glimmer of inspiration came to him. Inspiration, hell, it was a stupid idea. A really, really stupid idea.
But he couldn't make himself dismiss the notion. It might work. There was no reason it shouldn't. Dammit, he'd do anything to make sure Roxanne got everything she wanted, and if this dim but beautiful boy was her idea of the perfect husband, then she'd have him.
"Newberry,” Cyrus said softly. “I have a plan."
* * * *
Standing beneath Roxanne's balcony, his flash of inspiration seemed like an incredibly bad idea. If Calvin had agreed to do this on his own it would be different, but since the young man couldn't seem to remember even the simplest compliment Cyrus had suggested he convey, this close involvement was inevitable.
"Now,” Cyrus said softly to the man who stood just a few feet away, beneath the balcony but in clear view of anyone who stood there.
"Psst!” Calvin lifted his head and made a noise that was jarringly loud in the deep quiet of the night. “Hey,” he added quickly. “Roxanne!"
Cyrus could only pray that Josiah and Ada were sound sleepers. He motioned for Calvin to keep his voice down, but as he did he heard and felt Roxanne step onto the balcony above his head.
"Who's there?” she asked sharply, alert enough for him to be certain she hadn't been sleeping.
"It's me.” Calvin removed his head and lifted his head. “Calvin Newberry."
Roxanne paused, not moving, not speaking, and then she whispered a softly puzzled, “What are you doing here?"
Calvin worked the hat nervously in his hands. “I didn't get to say everything I wanted to say tonight,” he said. “So I just figured I'd mosey on over and say howdy."
"Oh,” came a soft sigh from above Cyrus's head.
"You sure was purty tonight,” Calvin added.
Roxanne cleared her throat uneasily. “Well, thank you, Calvin."
Calvin looked to Cyrus for help.
