by Linda Jones
Roxanne turned to face him and waited, her eyes wide with curiosity and perhaps even a little fear.
"I wanted to tell you first,” he said softly. “It looks like I'll be leaving town soon."
The news obviously puzzled her. Her eyes widened, and suddenly she was more alert, on guard. “Why? Where are you going? Have you gotten another job offer?” She took a step toward him.
"It's just time to move on,” he said. “That's all."
She stopped an arm's length short of him. “I guess I just thought you'd always be here,” she said softly. “You're as much a part of Paris as anyone in this town."
"Too much a part, maybe,” he said.
Roxanne cocked her head to one side, confused by his decision. He couldn't tell her the real reason for his departure; he couldn't admit that he was leaving to escape her.
"I'll miss you,” she whispered.
"Will you?” If he thought there was anything for them, any chance at all....
She nodded and lowered her head, perhaps afraid to explore the notion any further.
He took the single step to close the space between them, and placed an uncertain finger beneath her chin. With a small amount of pressure, he forced her to look at him.
"I'll miss you, too,” he whispered. “Too much."
She stood very still as he lowered his head slightly to kiss her, laying his mouth over hers, soft and hesitant. Their lips touched like two breezes blowing in from opposite directions, barely meeting, just passing by. Dammit, he couldn't leave without this, at least; one kiss to remember.
If Roxanne had responded quickly, if she'd wrapped her arms around him or pressed her mouth more insistently to his, the kiss might have grown into something more. But she didn't, and Cyrus backed away with no regrets.
"I hope you'll be very happy,” he said.
"Thank you,” she whispered, apparently deciding to ignore the kiss. “I ... I wish you happiness, too."
To laugh bitterly at her would be cruel, so he didn't. “I have something for you,” he said, his voice cool as he reached into his inside pocket for the small bundle he'd been carrying with him since early morning. “I ran into one of Calvin's cousins at the feed store yesterday, and he asked me to pass these on to you."
He handed over the small packet, three letters tied together with a narrow strip of scarlet satin ribbon.
"Was Calvin with him?” Roxanne asked, and Cyrus couldn't help but notice that she held her breath as she waited for an answer.
"No. This cousin said Calvin was working hard to get finished up so he can get back to Paris as soon as possible."
That false news brought a weak smile to her lips. She clutched the tiny bundle desperately. “Thank you for delivering these letters."
"No problem,” he said, backing away.
He could still feel her on his lips, even though the kiss had been brief. Time to get away from here before he did something stupid; like telling Roxanne that he'd written the letters she grasped.
"Cyrus?” she asked as he turned to leave. “When are you leaving town?"
"Soon,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Real soon."
But not soon enough.
Still dressed in her blouse and skirt, Roxanne lay atop her coverlet with the unopened letters clutched to her breast. A single candle burned on her bedside table, and just a touch of moonlight broke through the open window at her balcony.
She told herself she simply savored the moment, relishing the anticipation of reading these letters, but after several minutes had passed she had to admit she was lying to herself.
How could she open these letters and enjoy them when she still felt Cyrus on her lips? When her heart still beat just a little bit too fast from that brief encounter? No, Calvin deserved her full attention, and right now ... right this minute ... she didn't have it to give.
A flash of anger exploded inside her. How dare Cyrus confuse her this way! Darn it, she knew what she wanted. What right did he have to kiss her and make her question everything she knew to be true?
She took a deep breath and tried to reason with herself. What nonsense for a fully grown, sensible woman much too old to allow a kiss to turn her head.
Logic, that's what she needed right now. Logic.
Perhaps it was true that Cyrus appealed to her baser instincts. Surely the man was possessed of an overabundance of some masculine element that made him turn her own body against her. How unfair! A simple kiss, no more than a grazing of his lips against hers, certainly shouldn't have the power to paralyze her, to make her question everything she wanted and needed.
But it had. Blast him!
She closed her eyes and thought of Calvin. He was sweet and romantic, and he appealed to her heart and her mind, not some traitorous part of her body. She was sure that if Calvin ever kissed her it would be just as wonderful. More wonderful, in fact.
When she married, and she was determined to see that happen, it would mean sharing a bed with a man again. In the past three years she hadn't so much as considered the possibility. Louis had been her husband, her partner, and the very idea of taking another man into his place had been unthinkable. It had been easier to forget everything, to close that part of herself off. When feeling hurt, it was best not to feel anything at all.
Laying on the bed with Calvin's letters clutched to her bosom, she thought of her three nights with Louis. It had been such a long time since she'd allowed herself to remember. Bittersweet memories rushed back, assaulting her with vivid images.
Their first night together, their wedding night, had been awkward and anxious and painful. They'd both cried a little; Roxanne because she hurt, Louis because he'd hurt her. The pain had faded quickly, and wonderful Louis had held her close throughout the night.
The second night had been better. They came together much more easily, without pain and without tears. Louis had tried his best to be quick and gentle, while Roxanne had prayed that they'd make a baby. She remembered loving the touch of his skin against hers, so intimate, so right.
And then came that third night, their last night together. They'd decided to just kiss, to snuggle together beneath the covers and keep one another warm and talk all night. They had begun just that way, whispering, kissing, touching. Soon they kissed much more than they whispered. Louis fondled her in places she'd never been touched before, and she boldly touched him.
In spite of the cold she'd grown hot beneath the covers. Her body tingled, her thighs parted, and when he'd slid between them, come into her, it had been the most wonderful, most beautiful moment of her life. They'd truly come together that night, in heart and body and spirit, discovering joys they'd never known existed, unimaginable pleasures that surprised and delighted and exhausted them.
Roxanne squeezed her eyes shut and a couple of wayward, unwanted tears ran down her face.
God forgive her, she wanted that again. Cyrus promised pleasures like that, with his eyes and his kiss, and with his reluctantly whispered too much. But he didn't offer anything more. Not love, not promise, not the family she wanted so desperately.
She wanted to be close to a man she loved again, to reawaken that part of herself ... but holding and loving and kissing weren't enough.
Calvin offered her everything she wanted. Everything! When he finally kissed her she'd surely experience the same thrill as she had in that moment when Cyrus had laid his mouth against hers and taken her breath away.
With determination, she lifted the first letter from the stack, carefully opened the envelope, and began to read.
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Chapter Eleven
Certain phrases from Calvin's wonderful letters stayed with her, coming to her mind often in the days since Cyrus had delivered them. She found the words intruding when she should be teaching, and, on occasion, when she should be watching where she was going. The words were enough, she kept telling herself, to completely wipe Cyrus Bergeron from her mind.
The house was q
uiet with Josiah and Ada gone, but Roxanne enjoyed the solitude. She had time to think, to plan, to reread Calvin's letters wherever and as often as she liked. She usually took them out late at night, when her mind tended to take dangerous and unwanted turns.
When I'm not with you a part of me is missing.
Some days I'm sure that just looking at your face is enough to right the wrongs of the world.
I long to touch you.
I adore you.
Without you I'm nothing.
There were even a few quotes from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese. A couple of those lines came to her again and again, just as Calvin's own words did. “I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud about thee, as wild vines, about a tree.” And of course her very favorite: “The face of all the world is changed, I think, since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul."
The letters were so personal, so dear to her, that she knew no one but she would ever see or touch them. She'd taken the letters out so often she no longer needed light to read by, just the feel of crisp paper in her hands as she recalled the loving words. Calvin never actually wrote “I love you,” but love lurked in the letters, in every line, in every carefully written word.
Thank goodness the envelopes had been well sealed before leaving Calvin's hands! She could be certain that neither his cousin nor Cyrus had so much as glanced at the love letters. They were for her alone.
On the way home from school she stopped by the mercantile and bought several new ribbons for her hair, all brightly colored. She stopped by Fannie Rowland's place and looked over several fabrics but bought nothing. She went into the Dallas Bakery for a pastry to take home with her. Cooking for one was rather boring, she'd discovered in the past two days.
When she left the Dallas Bakery and stepped onto the boardwalk, she saw Calvin on his golden horse, riding solemnly and magnificently into town. A wide grin grew on her face as she stepped into the street and waved.
Calvin dismounted with the cautious ease of a man who's been in the saddle all day. When he hit the ground—with obvious relief—dust rose up around his boots. Roxanne sighed. Heavens, he was splendid. His face, his body, his heart....
If there weren't so many people around, she'd run to him and throw her arms around his neck and give him a big kiss. Unfortunately there were a dozen curious eyes in the vicinity, perhaps more.
"Welcome home,” she said softly as he came closer, leading his horse by the reins.
"Howdy,” he said with a grin to match her own. “What a purty smile,” he added. “Now, that's a fine sight to come home to."
Howdy wasn't a particularly intimate greeting, but then Calvin knew, as she did, that this meeting was being closely observed from windows and passersby all around. “How did your trip go?"
"Fine,” he said. “Found myself a good piece of land, and if the old man accepts my price, I'm set."
A farm, peaceful solitude, and romance with Calvin. What else could a woman ask for? “Sounds wonderful."
"I do need to talk to you, though,” he said, lowering his voice. “But maybe it would be better if we spoke in private."
Her heart lurched. “Certainly."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Robinette,” a chorus of young voices called, and Roxanne turned around to see a small contingent of her students passing by. Sarah Carlisle and Mary Elizabeth Sullivan were two of her best students, and they walked at the front of the group. Both fifteen years old, they were entirely too impudent for Roxanne's liking. The other girls, three of them, merely followed Sarah and Mary's lead.
The full skirts of crisp, youthful dresses in an array of bright spring colors, swayed as the girls walked by. They all slowed their step slightly to take a good long look at the handsome deputy. Sarah smiled widely, directly at Calvin, and the others followed suit.
"Good afternoon, girls,” Roxanne answered, ignoring the knowing glances that made her want to blush.
When they were well past, they all giggled. Silly girls.
"We do need to talk,” she returned her attention to Calvin. Alone. Alone at last. She found that she wanted to do much more than talk. All she'd thought about for days was what it would be like for this man to touch her. To hold her close. She craved a kiss with surprising intensity, yearned to have his strong arms around her. Once Calvin held her, surely she would forget about that silly, disturbing kiss Cyrus had surprised her with on Sunday.
Calvin nodded shyly, looking at the ground.
"Would you like to walk me home?"
Calvin shook his head. “I'd better not. Got to get Betsy to the livery.” He patted the animal lovingly on the neck. “She's had a long day, too."
"Of course.” She tried to hide her disappointment. Calvin was right. People all around watched this meeting, people who knew Ada and Josiah were out of town and she was all alone in that big house.
"I need to check in with the sheriff, too, I reckon. He didn't expect me back for a couple more days."
She smiled. He'd hurried home for her. “'The face of all the world is changed, I think ... ‘” she whispered dreamily.
Calvin stared at her and cocked his head closer, as if her words had been too soft for him to hear. “Huh?"
If she spoke any louder someone was bound to hear, so she did not repeat herself. “I was rather surprised to discover that you know Elizabeth Barrett Browning so well."
Calvin screwed up his lovely, perfectly shaped nose. “Don't think I've ever met her. Does she live in Lamar County?"
Roxanne laughed softly. Handsome, romantic, and funny, too! What a treasure this man was.
The look on Calvin's face turned quickly from comical to serious. “We really do need to talk,” he whispered, looking this way and that as if someone might be listening.
"I know,” she whispered as well, leaning close. She swallowed hard, gathering all her courage. “Tonight.” She looked deep into his beautiful blue eyes and thought of the words he'd written, of the secrets they'd shared by moonlight. Yes, this was right. “My aunt and uncle are out of town and I'm all alone in the house, so.... “she took a deep breath. “It would be best if no one saw you."
Calvin's eyes got big. His lower lip trembled. Goodness, he was more worried about this than she was! His shyness would be a problem, she supposed. Well, it was a problem they would have to work around.
He might be shy, but the man who wrote those letters was also tender and loving and passionate. One kiss, and she was sure his shyness, and with it every doubt she still harbored, would melt away.
"Tonight,” she whispered, and before her giggling students passed again on their way back from the confectioner's, she was on her way home.
Cyrus had to go searching for Calvin, having heard third-hand that the boy was back in Paris. Dammit, he was early, days early. This was a wrinkle he could live without.
The letters had to be explained before Calvin and Roxanne met. If Roxanne said something about the letters, and Calvin opened his big mouth and said, “What letters?” there would be hell to pay. A few words of explanation, that's all that was needed. Cyrus only hoped he was not too late.
After checking the boarding house, the livery, and the jail, he finally found Calvin in Nickels’ Saloon. The boy leaned over the bar with his head down and a drink in front of him.
"Calvin,” he said, stepping to the long bar to stand beside the kid. “I heard you were back in town."
Calvin lifted his head slowly, and settled desolate blue eyes on Cyrus's face. “Howdy, Sheriff.” He slurred his words badly. The kid was obviously miserable. And drunk. “I'm glad you're here.” He looked like he was about to cry. “I done messed up something awful.” He downed his whiskey and pushed the short glass toward Hamlin for a refill.
Cyrus ordered a glass of whiskey of his own. One look at the kid's face and he figured he was going to need it
"What's wrong?” With two full glasses of whiskey before them, Cyrus waved Hamlin to the other end of the long bar so he
and Calvin could have a little privacy.
"It was the note, I reckon,” he said sadly. “I told Roxanne that we'd do some courtin’ when I got back, and now I reckon that's what she ‘spects."
"So?” Cyrus asked impatiently. “What's wrong with that?"
Calvin shook his head. “Everything's different,” he muttered. “And she ... she asked me,” he lowered his voice and glanced around, only to see exactly what Cyrus saw; people having a good time and staying well clear of the law. “She asked me to come to her house tonight. Said she was in that house all alone. I can't go over there and ... and.... “he blushed deep red. “You know. Hellfire, I'm not the one Roxanne wants. She wants the man who stood under her window and spun sweet words for her ears. I did some thinking whilst I was away, and I come to the conclusion that she ain't sweet on me at all. It's you, Sheriff, and I can't—"
"That's ridiculous,” Cyrus hissed.
Calvin raised blood shot eyes. “No, it ain't. She likes you, and that's a fact. Hellfire, it's plain as the nose on your face."
The declaration hung between them, and in the dead, uncomfortable silence, Cyrus lifted his glass and downed the whiskey in one burning gulp. “You can give her what she wants, Calvin,” he said as he placed the empty glass on the counter. “I can't. Now get over there and ... and.... “Oh, hell. The kid was drunk. No telling what he might say to Roxanne in this condition. Something stupid, no doubt. Maybe something that would give up the game they'd been playing.
"I tell you what. I'll head over there and make your excuses.” It made perfect sense. “Tomorrow you'll see things more clearly."
Calvin shook his head, but Cyrus ignored him.
On his way out of the bar he shed his brown hat and leather vest, and grabbed Calvin's white hat and butternut duster from the rack by the batwing doors.
The moonless night was black and cool with shadows so dark and deep they appeared endless.
Roxanne sat on the balcony, her head resting against the wrought iron bars. What a complete and utter fool she was! Calvin wasn't coming. It was long past dark, and he wasn't here.
