“I do hope you enjoy it. I shall be along shortly with your meal,” he said before turning to disappear into the dark.
Cat thanked him and picked up the glass with something close to reverence. It wasn’t the alcohol that made her feel that way, but the gesture by Rick. That he had thought to bring her to such a place touched her deeply. She looked over the glasses turned golden by the candlelight and stared at him in awe for a moment.
“A single table amidst the most beautiful setting I’ve ever seen. How did you arrange all this on such little notice?” she finally asked.
Rick’s crooked smile was evident even behind his raised glass. “I have me ways. And I knew how much you’d love it. That motivation was enough. Do you mind if I make a toast?”
Blushing hotly, but doing her best to ignore it, she raised her glass and nodded.
“To new beginnings,” he said.
She echoed the toast through a smile that pushed her burning cheeks up high. They clinked glasses and she raised the wine to her nose. The lovely, slightly heady aroma told her it would be delicious before it even touched her tongue. It didn’t disappoint. In fact, the taste was fine and smooth without the acidic bite of many lesser-made wines.
“How did you find an establishment that serves wine here? I thought this was a city that frowns upon spirits,” she asked.
“Oh aye, ’tis, but like I said, I have me ways.” After a long sip of wine, he set his glass down, folded his hands together, and rested his chin on them. “Enough about me. I want to know more about you.”
Heat scorched along her skin. The world swayed a little and, sadly, not from the wine. Picking at the edge of a fingernail, she looked down at it as if it required her full attention. There were many things she didn’t want to tell him. Things that might change his opinion of her. But, if she were to take this courtship seriously, she knew she had to.
Rick’s hand settled atop one of hers. Though the touch was gentle, she jumped. “Me deepest apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
His gentle tone gave her the courage to meet his gaze. “There’s no need for you to apologize. If we’re to give this courtship a fair chance, I don’t want secrets between us. There are things you need to know about me. If you change your mind, so be it.”
Breathing deep, she drew her hand from his and sat back in her chair. She forced herself to hold his gaze and bear the shame she had coming. “I’m not like other high society ladies because I wasn’t always one. I was born a farmer’s daughter. I became pregnant with Michael’s child and his family forced him to marry me. I lost the baby.” There was more to say, but already her voice began to fail her.
Rick moved his chair closer to her side of the table and took hold of her hand once again. He raised it up and held it against his cheek for a long moment. “It brings me great sorrow to know you have suffered such a loss. But, Cat, what social circle you were born into, and what misfortune has befallen you, doesn’t change how I feel. You could still be a farmer’s daughter and it wouldn’t change my mind.”
Tears sprung to her eyes, preventing her from holding his gaze any longer. She widened her eyes and looked up, trying to dry the moisture. Every day this man astounded her with how wonderful he was. Stubborn, sarcastic, a touch ornery, yes, but wonderful beyond measure. Eyes going distant, he lay her hand back on the table and leaned back in his own chair. Many would say such things because they were a penniless rogue looking to raise their station, but that didn’t feel like the case with Rick.
“Now, ’tis my turn, I suppose. Me family is wealthy and I’ve inherited that wealth. Me da bought a large plot of land in California. He wasn’t a prospector; he just wanted to raise livestock. But he found gold in the creek that ran through our property, a lot of it. So sadly, I’m not the romantic portrait of a penniless rogue many imagine me to be.”
She could only stare. It explained many things, so many, that she was surprised she hadn’t guessed at it before. Perhaps it had been because she liked the dangerous idea of him being a penniless rogue. The irony of their situation struck her as humorous. A fit of laugher soon stole over her. It grew until she couldn’t stop. Moments into it, Rick joined her. They laughed until tears squeezed from their eyes. The violinist gave them a wide-eyed look, but kept playing as if they weren’t laughing their fool heads off. Only when their host returned with their food were they able to stop. The man hid a smile as he bowed his head and took his leave.
The aromas of juicy meat, rosemary, and lemon made Cat suddenly quite serious. After trying a bite of the deliciously flavored chicken, she raised her brows at Rick. “Romantic rogue, hum?”
He squared his shoulder. “Aye, I rather liked the idea of you envisioning me as a rogue. It held a certain romantic danger. Alas, I’m nothing more exciting than new money.”
“That makes two of us, Mr. Fergusson,” she said.
The warmth in his eyes spread over her in ways she longed for his hands to do. Things deep inside her awoke and tightened in a most exciting way. To calm herself, she turned her attention to her food for a while. Divinely seasoned in comparison to their meals on the trail, it was almost adequate to distract her. The way Rick kept licking his lips with slow, obvious pleasure undid all of her carefully planned distraction.
She looked quickly down. “You are much more than new money. You’re honorable, kind, and have a rare respect for a woman’s mind.”
Listing those qualities didn’t take her mind off his delicious lips or bulging arms like she had hoped it would. But it did serve to remind her that there was much more to him that she liked than his fine physique.
“Thank you for such kind words. Me mum would be proud to hear them,” he said. The reverent tone he used when he spoke of his mother made her look up. Love for the woman shined in his eyes.
“I’d love to hear all about her,” Cat prompted.
All but glowing with pride, Rick delved into stories about his mum. The way he spoke of her made it clear he revered the woman almost as a saint. Throughout the meal they exchanged stories, laughed, and enjoyed the violinist, who turned out to be quite talented. Rick even accompanied the man on the harmonica for a few songs. To Cat’s surprise, the two very different instruments blended well together. The two men shook hands and slapped backs as they exchanged compliments afterward.
When their meal was finished and their host came to clear away their plates and refill their glasses, Rick complimented the man on his kindness and asked him to extend his gratitude to the chef. Rick excused himself and stepped away from the gazebo with the man. Their heads leaned together and they spoke in hushed voices she couldn’t quite hear. Rick tucked coins in the man’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. He left with a smile and a nod.
Those small interactions impressed Cat. She was used to high society men ignoring the help and entertainers to the point of being rude. The actions of the man spoke of an exceptional upbringing and made her want to meet to meet his parents. Or, his mother, rather, since he said she was the only one he had remaining.
As Rick rejoined her, she set her second empty glass of wine on the table. “I don’t mean to be a lush, but this wine is divine,” she said.
Dimples formed in Rick’s cheeks, a sign she had come to realize meant he was holding back a smile. His hands found hers, as they so often had tonight. The thrill of his touch danced through her. Somehow it managed to remain just as strong and wonderful each time.
“So you’ve said, repeatedly,” he said, allowing his grin to break through. The expression—so full of joy—made him look absolutely dashing.
She giggled, beginning to feel the effects of the wine. “So I have.”
“But I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, gaze lifting to look beyond her.
Her head turned at the sound of footsteps brushing on the flagstone just as their host sat a small wooden box in front of Ri
ck. The men nodded to each other and the host took his leave with a huge grin. Soft violin notes drifted to them as the violinist began anew. The tune thrilled her and made her blush at the same time: “Scarborough Fair.” Rick moved the box in front of her.
“I know we’ve only begun our courtship, but I’ve known you now for a little over a month, so I hope you’ll accept this small token of me affection,” he said.
“Rick… I…” She didn’t know what to say, so she let her voice trail off.
Her eyes fell to the box. At no more than three inches or so tall and wide and maybe twelve inches long, she had no idea what it could hold. It was too long for the traditional courtship gifts of jewelry and too short and small for flowers. She undid the little latch that held it closed and opened the lid. The oiled hinges didn’t make a sound. On a bed of black satin sat a long, healthy-looking root. She knew it instantly by both scent and appearance.
Her watery eyes shot up to him. The vulnerable look of doubt on his face almost held her tongue. “Patrick, I can’t accept this, ‘tis too much,” she said in a choked voice.
The doubt melted away, turning into a pleased smile. “You like it then?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but her body threatened to reduce her words to a sob, so she closed it without making a sound. Her moisture-filled eyes returned to the bare root. It wasn’t that it cost too much. Chances were he couldn’t have bought a piece of jewelry for what he paid for this, a bouquet of flowers, certainly, but not much else. It wasn’t the cost of it, it was just that…
“It’s perfect,” she murmured.
His fingers wove through hers. “Then you must accept it. I’ll be heartbroken if you don’t.” It wasn’t a command, but more of a plea.
She couldn’t possibly refuse after that. Keeping her head down to hide the depth of emotion she knew burned across her face, she drew the box to her and clutched it tight. “In that case, I accept,” she said in a quiet tone.
The table moved slightly as Rick rose. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He dashed off into the darkening shadows and shared a few hushed words with the violinist. The lovely notes of a tune with just the right cadence for a nice waltz filled the air. Rick returned to her side and offered his hand.
“Miss Catriona, may I have this dance?” he asked.
She lifted her hand with a flourish, giving him a coy look from beneath her lashes. “My dance card has nothing but your name on it this evening, Mr. Fergusson,” she said.
As she rose, she took great care to set the box back away from the candles. The risk was miniscule, but it was one she wasn’t willing to take. The contents of that box were far too precious to her. Never had a man given her such a thoughtful gift. Carrying her hand as if it were something equally as precious, Rick guided her out onto the short-trimmed grass before the violinist. There in the candlelight, they danced a slow waltz that had her heart beating a conflicting rhythm.
The bare skin of Rick’s hand against her own sent little thrills of excitement based partially on the impropriety of it. Societal rules said she should wear gloves, but she hadn’t. Partly it had been because she’d spent so long on the trail that it seemed terribly impractical. But mostly she had forgone wearing them because she simply hadn’t wanted to. At the time of the decision she had felt a rebellious thrill; now she felt an altogether different thrill. Then there was the hand on her waist. Though satin and cotton layers separated their skin, the heat that radiated from his hand scorched her in a most welcome manner.
Sharing long gazes that further tested the boundaries of societal acceptances, they danced long into the night. Rick’s feet and hands were as quick and talented as his wit. He guided her effortlessly around the garden with a grace that ensured her heart pounded whether it was a polka or a slow waltz. Dancing alone with a man rather than in a group felt rebellious in itself. But dancing with Rick, here alone save for the violinist, felt downright scandalous. And saints help her, but she loved it. The man kept his hands where he was supposed to and made not one untoward comment. The look of desire in his eyes told her of his restraint and thrilled her to no end. Every bit of it delighted her—from his obvious desire to his honorable ways.
The evening ended all too soon. After tucking more coins into the hands of their host and the violinist, Rick escorted her back to the inn. They chatted along the way about the journey left ahead of them. Cat began to grow excited in an entirely different way. Only eighteen days or so lay between them and their destination. That was less than three weeks. At the door to her room, she stalled with all manner of questions about the trek across Nevada.
Was it truly that hot? What did a rattlesnake sound like? Were there natives there?
The questions flowed almost in an endless stream. She was curious, sure, but she really just wasn’t ready for the night to end. Finally, Rick’s eyes scanned left and right. He put a hand on the wall she was propped against. He leaned close enough that she could smell the lemon soap scent lingering on his skin. That, along with his lovely eyes so close to her own, made her breath catch and her knees weaken.
“We have a hard week ahead of us. ’Tis best if you get a good night’s sleep,” he said.
She couldn’t stop watching his lips as he talked. Saints, how she wanted to touch them, lick them… They descended on hers with an urgency that matched her own. Her arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him to her. The brush of his chest against her breasts drew a moan from her that poured down his throat. He groaned in response and cradled the back of her head. The way he touched her made her feel like something precious and delicate, two things she had never felt like.
After a long, wonderful moment, he drew away and took a step back. She grabbed hold of his hand. A plea for him to come inside waited on her tongue, but she didn’t let it loose. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to think her a whore who wasn’t taking this courtship seriously. If she invited him in like she so desperately wanted to, he might think just that. Her history with Michael made that fear a distinct possibility.
“What if you have nightmares? Perhaps you should sleep on the floor in my room,” she suggested instead.
He lifted her hand. Eyes closing as if in deep indulgence, he kissed it long and slow. A shiver ran through her that she couldn’t have stopped if she had wanted to.
“There is no fear of nightmares this night, I assure you,” he said when he relinquished her hand.
The words might have made her blush if her blood wasn’t already rushing down to her breasts and groin.
She managed to scrounge together a modicum of propriety. “Well then, Mr. Fergusson, I bid you a good evening and look forward to seeing you on the morrow.”
Rick bowed as he took another step back. “A good evening to you as well, me dear Cat.”
That would have undone the last thread she had on her control if he hadn’t promptly spun and stepped into his own room. Resisting the urge to sigh, she clutched the box containing the grapevine root to her chest, wishing it were him. It was going to be a very long eighteen days if she couldn’t get her desire under control.
Chapter 22
Day Forty
The desolate landscape of sagebrush and sandy soil coupled with the scorching heat to force them into traveling by night across Nevada. A week into it and Rick found himself missing the salt flats. But they couldn’t slow down or stop. Though he’d never tell Cat, he had noticed a man trailing them in the town of Salt Lake the morning they’d left. He refused to steal her peace from her by worrying her needlessly. He had ditched the man easily enough. It was part of why he’d booked them rooms in a place separate from where they had dined. While he had wanted to be right about Ainsworth not having men in Utah, he hadn’t been willing to risk Cat’s safety on hope alone. And he was glad he hadn’t.
A few days of sticking to the hills and skirting around the salt f
lats of the Utah territory helped keep them hidden from prying eyes. Nights crossing Nevada convinced him they had lost any tail. Unfortunately, traveling at night like this exhausted both him and Cat and put the horses on edge. Much to her credit, the woman kept pushing on, never wanting to slow or take a break. He’d never met a woman like her. She talked a lot less when they traveled in the dark, and he missed the sound of her voice.
Worse yet, they were forced to stay on the trail, stopping at the old Pony Express stations for water. Most were no more than deserted sites with a wellhead, but that was all they needed. The horses survived on scrub grass and the grain he had bought in Salt Lake. Though they were making great time, they needed a break. Toward the beginning of the seventh night, when he smelled the fresh, clean scent of river water, he made a decision. At first Cat didn’t notice as they veered away from the trail. Lincoln, on the other hand, moved with a new spring in his step. He led the way with his fanlike tail of gray and white swaying above him like a teetering sail.
The cooler night air wasn’t quite enough to stop Rick from sweating. He was so, so tired of sweating. As they slept each day away beneath the shade of a tent or rare tree, he sweated. Even at night, he sweated until the hours waned toward dawn. Usually the nights in Nevada were cooler, cold even. But not this year. With temperatures in the day tipping over into dangerous levels, the sandy soil held and radiated heat even at night. Hot nights were a rare and unwelcome occurrence in this state. Even Cat tugged at her collar and fanned herself.
He smiled as he anticipated her reaction to their destination.
One hand on a nicely shaped hip, Cat guided her horse closer. “You haven’t strayed from the trail in days and now you have a mischievous look on your face. What are you up to, Rick?”
Dark as it was with only a half moon out, he had been hoping she wouldn’t notice. But he should have known better. After all, her astuteness was part of what he admired about her.
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