Kissing Comfort

by Jo Goodman

  “Maybe some water,” Newt said finally. “A little food. That might help.” He started to rise and noticed for the first time that she was clutching something in her right hand. It looked like a tin. Slim and rectangular, slightly longer than the small fist she made around it, the side that he could see was painted red and white like her dress. “What’s that in her hand?”

  “I’ve been wondering myself.”

  “Have you asked her for it?”

  “She’s got no reason to give it to me. Way I figure, it’s all she has in the world, so I’m lettin’ her keep it.”

  “Somehow looks familiar to me,” said Newt. “Could be I’ve had a tin like that myself.” He finished straightening and it came to him. He snapped his fingers above Tuck’s head. “Dr. Eli Kennedy’s Comfort Lozenges. That’d be the peppermint she has. Spearmint comes in a green-and-white tin.”

  “Well, she can keep them,” said Tuck. “In fact, she can keep the name, too.”

  “Eli? Now that makes no sense.”

  Looking up, Tuck gave Newton a withering glance. “Not Eli. We’ll call her Comfort until she tells us different. Comfort Kennedy.”

  Newton thought about it, shrugged. “It’ll do, I suppose. It’s bound to be a puzzle trying to figure out who she is. Could be there will be kin back East; someone who will want to know what happened.”

  “Water first. Like you said. Get the jerky out of my bag.”

  Newt started to walk away, stopped, and then turned on his heel. “You’re not thinking about keeping her, are you? We don’t know anything about raising a baby. What are we going to do with her while we’re prospecting?”

  “A fool can see she’s not a baby, and we can’t leave her behind.”

  “We can take her back to the trading post.”

  “And leave her with strangers? That doesn’t set right with me.”

  “We’re strangers.”

  “But we can trust us,” Tuck said practically. “Name someone else you can say that about.”

  Newt couldn’t. “She’s a girl.”

  “So? You told me you grew up with four sisters.”

  “You’re making my point.”

  “It’s only until we can find her kin.”

  “If there’s kin.”

  “You said yourself there’s bound to be kin.”

  Caught, Newt’s mouth snapped shut.

  Tuck arched an eyebrow. “Too late to take it back. Get her something to eat, and then you can nose around for clues. In the meantime, Comfort and me are going to sit right here quiet as snowfall and contemplate the stars. Seems like she needs a little peace. I know I do.”

  “This is the plumb dumbest notion you ever took into your head, Tucker Jones, and I haven’t forgotten the time you drank half a bottle of tequila and proposed to that Mexican whore in Vera Cruz.”

  “True enough,” said Tuck. “But I wasn’t the one who married her.”

  Chapter One

  June 1870

  San Francisco

  Except for the fact that the guest of honor had failed to make an appearance, everyone who’d gathered to celebrate his birthday agreed he was missing a splendid affair.

  Comfort Elizabeth Kennedy stood with her back to the granite balustrade on the portico and surveyed the activity in the grand salon. She’d closed the French doors behind her when she made her escape to the portico, but she didn’t have to strain overmuch to hear the lilting melodies of the stringed orchestra or the titter and tattle of so many voices rising and falling in concert with the music. Woman after woman was led in a graceful arc past the beveled windows, blurring the definition of each gown until Comfort saw them as a single piece and held their luminescence in her eye as she would a rainbow.

  One corner of her mouth lifted as she saw her Uncle Tuck taking his turn across the floor with Mrs. Barnes. He was duty bound to do so, as Uncle Newt had already danced with the widow. It wasn’t competition that prompted each of them to invite every eligible woman to dance; rather, it was the very opposite of that. Neither wanted to show the least favoritism or become the subject of speculation in regard to any particular female.

  Smile fading, Comfort turned away from the house. Torches lighted the circuitous path to the fountain situated squarely in the center of the wide expanse of lawn. She considered leaving the portico for the relative privacy of the garden, even moved a foot in that direction, but then came up short as she realized she didn’t want to be that alone. For a moment she let herself do more than hear the three-quarter time of the waltz; she let herself feel it. She swayed, feet rooted, her side-to-side bent so slight as to merely suggest motion. Raising her head, she studied the night sky and found calm and order and the peace that had been snatched from her when Bram made his ridiculous announcement. And it was a ridiculous announcement. Spectacularly so.

  She couldn’t bring herself to place all the blame on his shoulders. Hadn’t she gone along with him? Trusted him as if she had no mind of her own? Where was the sense in that? His own mother would have counseled her against it. Abraham DeLong meant well. That was at the crux of the problem. He always meant well. Comfort rarely felt as easy in anyone’s presence as she did in Bram’s. That was his effect on people, his special talent, and tonight, when she’d needed to keep her wits about her, he’d managed to make her forget the most fundamental truth: there were invariably unforeseen consequences for following Bram’s merry lead.

  The doors behind her opened. Comfort stiffened as the music momentarily swelled, and she wished that she had acted on the impulse to leave the portico in favor of the fountain. It was too late, of course. She was standing in a pool of torchlight and couldn’t hope to slip unnoticed into the shadow of a marble column.

  “So this is where you’ve gone,” Bram said, closing the doors.

  Comfort shrugged and purposely did not glance over her shoulder. If she didn’t look at him, the odds improved that she would remain firm. Bram’s reckless smile had caused hearts stouter than her own to seize.

  “You’re angry.” He stood directly at her back and placed his hands on the balustrade on either side of her. If he dropped his chin, he could rest it in the curve of her neck and nuzzle her ear with his lips. He did neither of these things. “I can tell you’re angry.”

  “Then there’s no need to comment, is there?”

  He chuckled softly. “How is it possible that you can be flush with heat and frigid in your sentiments? Butter won’t melt in your mouth, but I could boil water for tea on the nape of your neck.” Bram tilted his head to gauge her smile and saw that there was none. “Oh, you are mad.”

  Comfort lifted Bram’s right hand from the balustrade and stepped sideways to elude capture. “I thought you understood that was a given.” She turned and showed him her most withering look. True to form, he remained undaunted. Worse, she was afraid his smile was actually deepening. “You might have warned me that you intended to announce our engagement.”

  “You would have had no part of that.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Then I fail to understand how informing you would have helped. Everything would be just as it was at the outset of the evening when there was hardly an utterance that did not include the name of our sainted guest of honor. When is he coming? Where has he been? Will he be surprised? What could have detained him?” Bram’s gaze slid from the fountain to Comfort. “I can tell you, Mother is mortified by his absence.”

  “Your mother is made of stronger stuff than that. I do not think she has the capacity for mortification.” Comfort was tempted to point out that it seemed to be a DeLong family trait. “Even if you’re right in this instance, Bram, what possessed you to make such an outrageous statement?”

  “Didn’t I just say? Everyone was talking about him. What is unreasonable about giving Mother’s guests something else to discuss? And if you’ll permit a small immodesty, I want to point out that Mother’s event has been saved by my quick thinking. Our engagement put her over the moon.”r />
  Comfort took a slow, calming breath and chose her words carefully. “I appreciate that you want her favor, but did you consider even for a moment what her reaction will be when our engagement is summarily ended?”

  Bram’s gaze sought out the fountain again.

  Comfort sighed. “I didn’t think so.” As there was nothing to say beyond that, Comfort simply joined Bram in his deep study of the torch-lit garden. She did not mind the silence settling between them, but experience told her it would be short-lived. Bram’s inclination was to fill the void.

  “Summarily,” he said. “Why summarily?”

  “Pardon?” Her mistake, she supposed, was that she turned to look at him in the same moment his grin was breaking wide, changing his features from merely handsome to indecently so. His pale blue eyes met hers with unwavering directness and issued a challenge that still managed to be boyishly charming and full of mischief. She found herself asking the question she did not believe she had the courage to voice: “You intend our engagement to end, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Comfort was glad that she had steeled herself for just such a careless reply. He’d answered with no discernable hesitation. It was better that way, she told herself. She had nothing to grasp at, nothing that she would question later and perhaps attempt to interpret as uncertainty on his part. If he were uncertain, she would have cause to hope. Nothing good could come of that.

  “Then summarily seems entirely appropriate,” she said. She was relieved to hear herself sound so sensible. She concentrated on schooling her expression to be equally imperturbable. “As we are in agreement that the engagement must end, it should be done without delay.”

  One corner of Bram’s mouth kicked up. Reaching out, he tapped Comfort on the tip of her nose with his index finger. “There it is again. Why should it be done without delay? Who says that’s the better course?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, yes, but I don’t think you’ve thought it through.”

  Indignation made Comfort stiffen. “I haven’t thought it through? You’re saying that to me?”

  Bram tapped her nose again. “Careful, dearest. You’ll put this out of joint, and your lovely countenance will not be improved for it.”

  She slapped his hand away. “Stop acting the fool, Bram. I am angry with you. Do not test the limits of my patience.”

  Dutifully dropping his arm back to his side, Bram stood sharply at attention. Although he made the effort, he could not quite manage to affect a contrite mien. His mouth twitched.

  Comfort stared at him. He’d recently run his fingers through his blond thatch of hair, and she quelled the urge to make the unruly runnels right again. Her fingers curled into loose fists at her side.

  “If it will make you feel better,” he said, “you can blacken my eye.”

  “Do not tempt me.” She relaxed her hands. “What makes you think I’d blacken only one?” She was gratified to see that gave him pause. Gathering the unraveled threads of her composure, Comfort said, “If you don’t believe our engagement—our sham engagement—should be ended quickly, then you’d better explain yourself. What you’ve begun involves more than just the two of us. I am also thinking of my uncles. They did not welcome your announcement with the enthusiasm of your mother.”

  “That’s because I did not approach them first to state my intentions and ask for your hand. I grant you, that was an error of judgment on my part. There was no time to take them aside and do the thing properly.”

  “And that’s because you acted on the engagement the moment you thought of it. Why me, Bram?” She waved a hand toward the salon, where his mother’s guests continued to chatter and laugh and spin themselves about the floor oblivious to the small drama unfolding just beyond the doors. “Look there. Amelia Minter.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him follow the sweep of her hand. She pointed again. “Deborah Brush. Oh, and there is Miss Arleta Ogden. All have something to recommend them besides the fact they’re unattached. I know any one of them would have been pleased to participate in your scheme. I cannot think why you chose me.”

  Bram’s eyebrows rose. He regarded her with surprise. “I believed that was obvious. Aren’t you my friend, Comfort? I should have been well and truly snared if I’d put myself in reach of any of those young ladies. You were my only choice. I trust you.”

  There it was, Comfort thought. In her own way she was as predictable as he was. He’d never been disappointed by depending on her steadiness and good sense. “I should insist that you marry me,” she told him. “It would serve you right if I took offense to my own nature and behaved as rashly as you.” She took some solace from the small crease that appeared between his eyebrows. It would not last long, she knew, but he was momentarily wary.

  “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  “God forbid.”

  Relieved, he leaned forward and bussed her on the cheek. “This is why I adore you.”

  Comfort was tempted to raise her palm to her face and make a shelter for the lingering imprint of his mouth. Resisting temptation was part and parcel of her long friendship with Bram DeLong. “And I adore you,” she said, meaning it. “That doesn’t release you from making a full explanation, however. If our engagement is not to be ended summarily, you will have to say how you mean for us to go on. Further, do not suppose for a moment that I will keep the truth from my uncles. You may say what you like to your mother, but Newton and Tucker will hear the truth from me.”

  Bram blinked. “Then I am a dead man.”

  Unmoved, Comfort shrugged.

  “Although that will summarily end our engagement,” said Bram.

  For the first time since Bram joined her on the portico, Comfort smiled.

  Bram chuckled. “Very well, I can hardly stop you from speaking freely to them. I hope you will find a way to soften the blow.”

  “And I hope you will not be offended, but I believe they will be relieved by the news. You are not what they hope for me, Bram. If they were still prospectors, they wouldn’t stake a claim on you.”

  “A man who does not know his shortcomings as well as I do would take offense to your candor. It is to my credit, I think, that I am fully aware that my moral fiber is dangerously frayed.”

  Comfort laughed. “Only you can manage to turn a slight upon your character on its head. Enough. You have one more chance to state your intentions before I announce to everyone in the salon that you were only pulling their collective leg.”

  “Six months,” he said quickly. “We will allow our engagement to run its course in six months. You will end it in whatever manner you choose, publicly if you wish.”

  “I would never do that.”

  He ignored her. “You may humiliate me, make me the villain, turn me out for being the fool that I am. It would serve me right.”

  “I’m sure it would, but you fail to appreciate how I would become an object of speculation and pity. We will end it quietly by simply dropping a word here and there with our most sympathetic but reliably indiscreet friends. The engagement will be ended that easily.”

  “All right.”

  “But six months?” she asked. “That is too long, Bram. You cannot manage to keep up appearances for so long, and I will not be made a fool while you troll the brothels for female companionship. Everyone knows where you take your entertainments.”

  Bram’s lips twitched again. “Plain speaking, Comfort, even for you. Is your objection to brothels in particular or me having female companionship in general?”

  His amusement twisted her heart, but she brought up her chin and narrowed her eyes in a way that put him on notice. “It is my opinion that perhaps you can abstain from visiting your usual haunts for six weeks.”

  “Only six weeks? Is it your contention that I behave like a satyr?”

  “If the horns fit . . .” When he merely continued to stare at her, she added, “I said ‘perhaps.’ I am not confident you can stay away from the Barbary Coast that long.�
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  “Are you challenging me?”

  “No.”

  “It sounds as if you’re challenging me.”

  “That’s because you are filled with ridiculous notions this evening.”

  “Six months, Comfort. I can do it. I tell you, I am flirting with responsibility. It wasn’t so long ago that I was dispatched to Sacramento to attend to matters of business for Black Crowne. I held my own with the governor. I sat at the same table with railroad men and their Pinkerton agents and didn’t blink. Six months is nothing compared to spending an evening with legislators who require money for favors but aren’t nearly as straightforward about it as whores.” He realized his own speech had become rather plain, and he apologized.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking for six months. Six weeks is sufficient. Moreover, people will expect that I come to my senses before then. If I wait as long as six months to end it, they will wonder at my discernment, and the public relies on my ability to recognize a good investment from a bad one. Jones Prescott is successful in part because of my facility for discriminating the levels of risk.”

  Now it was Bram DeLong who rolled his eyes. “Not everything you do is a reflection on the bank.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m not, but I see that you believe it. I do not accept the same yoke, and it is a yoke, Comfort. Everything I do is not a refection on Black Crowne. I am a person separate from the family enterprise, and if you do not know that to be true, then ask my brother. He will tell you the same.”

  Comfort chose not to press him. Hadn’t he just described his trip to the capital as a flirtation with responsibility? As far as she was concerned, Bram had made her point for her. “Six weeks,” she said.