Karen Mercury

by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4]

  Why would Jeremiah swoon upon reading about a rodeo? Tabitha seemed unconcerned as she stepped over his comatose body to observe the hand closer. Caleb had asked for paper and a pencil to be left on the séance table, and now the hand was indeed writing. “Ezra!” Tabitha called. “Whose hand is this? Is this your hand?”

  Ezra seemed very chipper at this revelation. “It is my hand, indeed! I am pleased that I can do this. I wonder what else I can do.”

  Worth got to the basis of the matter. “Ezra, what do you mean by ‘organize a rodeo’? How can a rodeo help?”

  “Let the hand speak!” Ezra proclaimed.

  The hand continued to write.

  Have entire town participate in rodeo. This will make everyone happy and will reveal the answer to your conundrum.

  Everyone leaned back in their chairs and sighed, but the hand wasn’t finished writing.

  Make sure you have hoop-and-pole game. All your problems will be solved.

  “Well!” Foster sighed deeply. “It would be merry to have a rodeo anyway. When’s the last time you had one in Laramie?”

  “About a year ago,” Harley said. “Remington Rudy was the star performer, of course. But some unfortunate incidents led to the town council putting a kibosh on any future rodeos.”

  “Yes,” Tabitha agreed. “More than a few bones were broken when men were hurled from wild horses.”

  Ivy said, “But the real damper was when Rusty Pipes spilled an entire barrel of beer. More bones were broken from beer than from horses, with all the folks slipping in it.”

  Harley recalled, “And the brawls that ensued between citizens irate that Rusty had wasted an entire barrel of beer.”

  “All right!” Foster proclaimed. “We shall hold a rodeo, Ezra. And you’re invited!”

  “Just ensure Rusty Pipes doesn’t bring a barrel of beer,” suggested Tabitha.

  The mood became jovial then, and it seemed the general consensus that the séance was over now. Someone knocking on the front door seemed to seal this idea, and Harley and Worth went to the sideboard to pour whiskeys. Caleb even became himself again without levitating this time and asked for a sarsaparilla.

  Worth knew he wasn’t imagining when he overheard Orianna hiss at Caleb, “You keep your magic in your neck of the woods and I’ll stay in mine, bud.”

  Caleb gave a wan smile. “And which is my neck?”

  “The one where I’m not.”

  Some issues seemed to have been resolved, but when Neil Tempest’s deputy entered the foyer, other issues became more clouded.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “How dare he bring that awful woman here,” Worth murmured.

  Tabitha had only glanced once at Foster and Orianna when their entrance into the Fowler’s ballroom was announced by a servant.

  Tabitha’s breath had been taken away by Foster’s stunning, dressy getup. She had never seen him wear tails before, of course, there never having been a call for it. His erect, athletic figure seemed made for the elegant ball room. His frock coat was black and shiny, and his necktie was done up in an especially fussy manner, probably by Orianna. Orianna, of course, was dressed to the nines in a frothy concoction outlandishly covered with silk roses. The roses were strewn about the ridiculously long train, and the biggest rose drew attention to the very low square neckline. It was a typically feminine ability of Tabitha’s to automatically note, in the fraction of a second that she observed the couple, that her own bosom was fuller and higher than Orianna’s.

  But that was small comfort. The fact remained, Foster was squiring Orianna to the Fowler’s ball.

  Tabitha tried to be understanding, she really did. But already, she felt if she heard “Orianna is the mother of his son” one more time she would absolutely scream! Foster should just marry that witch and be done with it! Foster’s face fell when his eyes lit on Tabitha, no doubt mortified at being caught with Orianna.

  Neil’s deputies had not found a can of Paris Green in Orianna’s room, but she could have easily and intelligently disposed of that can. However, the deputies had seized a copy of a questionable publication called Mutus Liber. Caleb had privately told Tabitha it was a manual of instruction in how to fabricate your own Philosopher’s Stone, the stone being a substance that could convert other metals into gold.

  Worth now said, “I don’t need to see an actual can of Paris Green dye in her possession to know that woman is an evil hellcat.”

  “They’re striking up another waltz,” Tabitha noted and tugged at Worth to escort her onto the dance floor.

  The ballroom was actually more like a very large parlor, the quartet jammed into a corner by the front windows. The violinist bashed the cellist with his elbow when hitting particularly emotional notes, and there was only space for about eight couples to waltz at once, but it was the largest ballroom in Laramie. Tabitha was glad to see her new acquaintances and could write a new article about their “scintillating conversations” for the Frontier Index. And in the meantime, she was not moping about the house, at least. Worth was a very honorable and strapping beau, but already Tabitha knew she would drink more sherry than was absolutely necessary.

  “Foster is being very smart,” Tabitha said flippantly. She knew, though, she would not fool Worth with her light tone. “He is showing Orianna how pleasant Laramie can be, that we do have high society, and he is taking her out, allowing potential beaus to see her. He’s being very cagey. There is still a shortage of women in Laramie, though Senator Spiro passed that bill allowing them to vote, to draw more women here.”

  Worth, who usually was a happy-go-lucky optimistic chap, was not tonight. “There is no way Laramie can compare to San Francisco, if that’s what she’s looking for.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t behoove him to ignore Orianna. She would just angrily return to San Francisco and poison Foster’s image in his son’s mind.”

  “True. But from the sounds of Arthur Firestone’s yachting schedule, he’s not eagerly looking for Orianna to return. I wonder if it was old Firestone who gave that witch the boot?”

  “That could be. A woman doesn’t want to admit when she’s been thrown over. All the more reason for Foster to play nice with Orianna, then. If he can convince her to bring Abe out here, he will need to be on convivial terms with her.”

  “Yes,” agreed Worth, spinning Tabitha past the waltzing Ivy and Harley. “I just wish he didn’t have to spend time with that awful sorceress. She’s capable of conjuring up that smoke warlock or whatever it was that attacked Caleb. Not to mention killing poor innocent Phineas and poisoning that gown she materialized.”

  “That’s what scares me,” Tabitha admitted. “Even if we succeed in getting her to bring Abe to Laramie, who’s to say she’ll stop trying to harm people?”

  “Perhaps there’s something Caleb can do. He must have stronger powers than her.”

  The waltz ended then on a lovely flourish that was ruined when a violinist banged his elbow against the wall. This would not impress Orianna on Laramie’s highfalutin status, especially when the violinist proceeded to flail his instrument into a passing waiter, who tossed his tray of four champagne flutes into the lap of a Union Pacific magnate.

  That reminded Tabitha. “We’d best get some more champagne before it’s all gone.” She spied the railroad tycoon her father knew, and navigated in his direction. She wondered if that fellow were a bachelor. He must have enough income to satisfy Orianna. After all, Tabitha was now a society journalist and needed to know these things.

  “I wonder why Ezra was so dead set on a rodeo.” Worth wondered for the dozenth time. “Maybe because he knows it will make Foster look good? Next to everyone other than Remington Rudy, of course.”

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. “There are many excellent vaqueros here in town, Worth. They can all ride circles around Foster, as skilled as he may be. I, however, will be the only woman performing in the rodeo.”

  “What rodeo?” asked the railroad fellow.

  Tabitha grabbe
d her champagne glass and gulped before answering. “The one we’re going to organize. We could have it out at Mr. Boswell’s ranch.”

  “That’s a good locale,” said the railroad guy. Tabitha seemed to recall he was a widower. She should introduce him to Orianna. Anything to take that witch’s attention off her man.

  She spied Remington Rudy himself leading her sister Alameda from the dance floor, so Tabitha started in that direction. Only to have her arm stayed by a firm male hand.

  Foster’s forest green eyes glittered—apologetically, Tabitha imagined. He did have sort of a hangdog look about him. “I’d like to dance with you.”

  A statement like that! Not even a question, an invitation. “I’d like to dance with you,” Tabitha agreed, and she was whisked onto the parquetry floor. She noted right away that he held her closer than he’d held Orianna. So close, in fact, his necktie brushed against her chin. He no longer smelled like cowhide, Tabitha realized with chagrin. How she wanted to bury her face in his neck, to discern his new scent! She knew she could instantly tell if he’d canoodled with Orianna by the scent.

  He did not take his eyes from her face, as he had often when waltzing with Orianna. “I love you, Tabitha Hudson. I have not ceased to think about you for one moment since meeting you.”

  Except when Orianna is sucking up all your thoughts. “We’re not courting, Foster. Don’t look at me.” Tabitha tried to gaze distantly over his shoulder but could not keep her eyes off him either.

  His eyes flashed with anger. “Who says we’re not courting? Tabitha, Orianna is just the mother of my son. This doesn’t mean I’m returning to courting her. I want you.”

  Tabitha steeled her jaw and looked at the quartet. She tried to smile at her brother-in-law Derrick Spiro, who was wheeling Alameda around the small ballroom. “I say we’re not courting. Not until you get things straight with Orianna. I will not court a man who is being manipulated by a former flame! An evil one, at that. Look away, Foster.”

  He didn’t look away. “I agree she’s got an evil streak, Tabitha. All the more reason I should do everything I can to get my son back.”

  “I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing, Foster.” Tabitha grinned woodenly at William Freund, the big gun of the local emporium chain. There were many ridiculous and trivial Freund brothers—one of them could take Orianna off their hands. “Your obligation is to Abe, and therefore to Orianna as well. In fact, we shouldn’t even be dancing. Orianna seems to be capable of thoroughly frightening things. Your faithful dog can attest to that. When did she find out you have a gold claim in the Black Hills?”

  Foster’s eyes flickered with confusion, perhaps because he couldn’t recall telling Tabitha about the gold, either. “I probably mentioned it in a letter when I sent her gold and money.”

  “You see, then? She’s obviously interested in alchemy. Maybe she thinks you’ve struck pay dirt—I don’t know, and don’t want to know—and by using your son’s alleged ill health to manipulate you… Well, I don’t need to say more.”

  The waltz was winding down, and dancers eager for a lively reel crowded the floor.

  “All right! A fiddle!” yee-hawed one roostered tycoon by the punch bowl. It was not uncommon in the Far West for even the upper crust to be roostered past six o’clock, and many others joined in his approval of the fiddler.

  “It’s a shame you’re not fiddling,” said Tabitha to change the subject.

  But Foster had her firmly by the arm, steering her toward doors she knew went to a glass greenhouse. She allowed herself to be steered, mostly because her main wish in life, the thing that overrode all other desires, was the wish to be alone with Foster, under any circumstances. Her moral code told her this was absolutely wrong, would give guests the wrong idea and, most of all, give Orianna the wrong idea. She did not need Orianna to have another reason to hate her. There were already plenty of reasons.

  She allowed Foster to steer her behind an enormous palm. He pressed her into the foliage of some tropical undergrowth until she felt her bustle stopped by the palm trunk. He then crushed his powerful body against hers.

  “Tabitha, you don’t know how much turmoil I’ve been in since that woman materialized. This was the last thing I wished for in the world! I don’t want anything to come between you and me.”

  “Yes, but she has,” Tabitha pointed out. It was a massive internal struggle to remain composed—to refrain from flinging her arms about Foster.

  “I know I cannot avoid this reality, what has happened the past couple of days. I cannot ignore that I need to step up and be present for my son. I also cannot ignore that I am helplessly in love with you, Tabitha, and without you, I wilt and die.”

  Tabitha actually liked that. Not that she wanted Foster to die, no, of course not. But the idea that without her he wasn’t his randy, dignified, fireball self, well, that sat well with her. She was needed. She ran her fingers through his silken spiky hair and said tenderly, “I must admit I am in love with you, too, Foster Richmond. But right now you need to find out what Orianna’s plan is. If she cannot bring herself to return to Laramie, you will need to go to San Francisco.”

  She had never seen Foster so coiled, like a snake. She should feel sympathy for his many conflicting emotions. When he impulsively kissed her, Tabitha threw her entire body into it. She clung to his neck, nearly lifting her slippers off the tiles. There were many layers to her cream tarlatan gown, but she managed to hitch the toes of one slipper into the top of his boot, signaling her vulnerability, her willingness to be taken.

  He kissed her voraciously, lapping at the underside of her tongue. A whiff of something decidedly not cowhide emanated from his neck, and Tabitha tensed—it was a musky yet feminine scent, something a witch would wear. She told herself that the hellcat had probably hugged him up, thanked him for something, become demonstrative in her excitement. That was how a feminine scent had gotten on Foster. Maybe Orianna had done up his necktie for him, that was it.

  She did not wish to think about this as Foster fumbled at her skirts. He seemed to be gathering a great handful of the various layers eagerly, without thought to how he might be mussing them. There was the gauze pleated overskirt, and then he had to contend with garlands of roses. His hand got stuck in a medallion of black lace ruche, and Tabitha assisted by yanking it away.

  “My pet,” he panted against her mouth. “I will not throw your name to the wind. I will not give you up, and I will never forget you.”

  “You must not leave Laramie!” Tabitha spoke what was in the center of her heart. “No matter what, you must not leave me.”

  “I won’t,” Foster agreed, and his nimble fingers swept against her clitoris, beneath all the sweaty layers of fabric. He quickly set up a talented twiddling motion that had her gasping, and climbing the palm trunk to give him better access.

  With one foot wedged in his boot and her hands clutching the palm, Tabitha could even lunge her hips to add friction to his twiddling. Against his mouth she said, “You must do what’s right for Abe. You must bring him here at all costs!”

  “I will, my pet,” Foster promised in a strangled tone. How talented he was, how agile with his fingers! As he had done with his mouth, his fingers zeroed in on the target, the exact sensitive spot that never failed to bring Tabitha off.

  She knew that soon she would fall into that mindless realm where logical thoughts were banished, so she spoke while she still could. “Use Caleb’s power. He is more powerful than Orianna and her stupid little alchemy experiments.” Of course, there was that smoke monster that had attacked Caleb. But Tabitha didn’t want to think about that now.

  “Yes, Caleb,” murmured Foster, grinding his erection into the roses at her hip. He didn’t miss a beat with his agile fingers. “Caleb doesn’t like her. He’ll help.”

  On a sudden, Tabitha gasped until her lungs were full. She hovered for a brief moment on the edge of that orgasmic cliff—the cliff of no return. Her eyelids fluttered, and the entire cha
nnel of her pussy trembled and shivered before clamping down in one immense contraction.

  The strength of her inner muscles was so powerful, she knew if there’d been a penis inside of her, she would’ve strangled it silly. Spasm after spasm clutched at her pussy as Foster coaxed the most cataclysmic orgasm of her life from her.

  “That’s good, my pet,” he cooed. “Keep coming. Come all over my hand. Let your juice drip down my arm.”

  One part of her addled brain wondered how he’d known she was coming. Another part wondered how he’d explain the pussy stains on his cuff. And the contractions kept coming, clenching at her uterus, washing her pelvis in a flood of exquisite pleasure. She realized she was whimpering, and she heard her tiny voice begging him to stop.

  “Oh, Jove,” she squeaked. “Hell’s bells. Stop. Enough. Too much.”

  Foster slowed down, and when she finally opened her squinched eyes she saw he nuzzled her nose with the tip of his, and he was murmuring, “I love you, my pet… Don’t ever leave me.”

  She was so overly stimulated, she didn’t much notice when the sleek round knob of his cockhead wiggled urgently against her pussy. Lifting one slipper from the floor to give him better access, she balanced herself by gripping the palm trunk. She was so wet, so wide open, she knew her cunt would willingly accept his length and breadth.

  He slid inside her, his thighs trembling and his eyelids fluttering. His gasps and chokes let Tabitha know he, too, had been so riled by her orgasm he was on the verge of his own. Forcing his eyes open, he looked directly at her. “Tabitha. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she gasped. Now wasn’t the proper time to mention the enormity of what stood between their love.

  He moved beautifully, with assurance, the wetness of her pussy guaranteeing a smooth fuck. Tabitha didn’t want to ruin his neatly knotted necktie, but she was not above getting lipstick on his neck, and she liked his taste.