Jeremiah shook his head. “No. You go with Shane. You’re pretending to be his wife, so go do it. You can teach me what I need to learn another time.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll sit down with you tomorrow. It’ll be better this way. Because whatever problems we find tonight, we’ll correct and then I’ll have all the information you’ll need to know. But I’m warning you, Jeremiah. It’s necessary to stretch the truth. I know you don’t like doing that.”
“You mean…lie, don’t you, Dorie?”
Dorie bit down on her lip. There was no fooling her brother. She nodded. “Yes, but for the greater good.”
“Whatever that means. I’ll do it to stay here with you. I’ll do and say whatever I have to.”
Dorie heard regret in his words and felt it in her heart, as well. She didn’t like putting him through this. Lord knows, she wasn’t being entirely fair to Shane either, and she herself wasn’t much for deception. Unless absolutely necessary.
Dorie was one hundred percent certain this was necessary.
“What are your plans today?”
“I’m riding over to Shane’s.”
“Aren’t the Boyds going over there today?”
“Yep, but Shane’s going into town. He’s on some sort of mission and he asked if I could spend a few hours helping out.”
Dorie wondered what kind of mission would take him off to town today. She only hoped Mrs. Whitaker had convinced him to come over for the rehearsal. Dorie cringed thinking of Shane’s expression when the older woman explained her plans for the evening. “Okay then, finish your meal and I’ll clean up the kitchen. Then I’ve got some chores to do myself. There’s so much to do before meeting up with the Parkers on Saturday.”
Dorie picked up plates and began washing, listening to the sound of Jeremiah scraping two bowls of oatmeal, clean.
She smiled.
And felt more hopeful than she had in days.
Later that afternoon, Dorie looked over the dress she’d worn to Shane’s the other day when she’d helped deliver the calf. She’d washed it twice since then, darned a rip near the hem, but still the dress didn’t look clean enough to wear tonight. Wrinkled and with some mud stains still visible, the once pretty pink-and-yellow calico wasn’t fit for wearing in public.
Dorie rifled through her drawers, pulling out her options and placing them on the bed. She had a cream-colored lace blouse with a high collar that buttoned down the back that she’d considered appropriate enough for church. But all of her skirts were loose-fitting in tones of drab grays and browns. She’d never had occasion to wear anything nice, not since she was a little girl when her mama would fix her up so pretty and take her to Sunday services. No, her clothes these days were only practical enough to wear while milking the cow, making tallow and churning butter. She’d never had call for anything else.
She’d wear the cream blouse and the cheeriest of her gray skirts to Mrs. Whitaker’s house tonight. In her mind she counted away the hours before her rendezvous with Helene and Oliver Parker. Dorie knew now what she had to do, and began to set her plan in motion. She’d work into the wee hours of the night if necessary.
With her plan set firmly in her mind, she boiled water over the cookstove and set about taking a lavender-scented bath. The book had full instructions on how to make oneself presentable and, though Mrs. Whitaker had said they didn’t need the book’s advice any longer, Dorie liked the idea of soaking in scented water and scrubbing her hair clean before meeting with Shane tonight.
Dorie brought the oval-shaped steel tub in from outside and set it into the kitchen. One day, she hoped to have a nice porcelain tub long enough to stretch full out and relax in. Shane had a tub like that and she’d soaked in his tub the other day, but he hadn’t been all too happy about it.
“Forget about Shane,” she scolded herself. “Just concentrate on what you have to do, Isadora McCabe.”
Dorie filled the tub with one bucket of cold water, then three more buckets of water she’d heated up real good. She watched as steam wafted up before dropping in a small amount of lavender oil. Mrs. Whitaker had given her both the lavender oil and an egg-shaped fancy soap that smelled like someplace far away, someplace…exotic. At least that’s what Mrs. Whitaker had said. The flowery scent drifted up inside the room and Dorie removed all of her clothes and sunk down deep into the tub. She closed her eyes, enjoying the peace and got as comfortable as possible in the steaming hot tub. She began to wash her body clean using the scented soap. The fragrant lather slid down her body, softening up her skin. When she was finished with her body, she leaned way back and let the water bathe her hair. She sudsed the wet tresses all the way down to the ends, then put a dollop of lavender oil in her hand and worked it through, lightly wondering if the oil would make her hair glisten like sunshine.
Dorie rested back in the tub, too relaxed now to think. She enjoyed the hot water caressing her neck, and though her knees weren’t immersed, she could just about fit the rest her body in the water. She soaked with eyes closed and drifted off.
Shane brought the buckboard up to Dorie’s house an hour earlier than he’d been instructed. He’d dressed in his Sunday best, but his heart wasn’t in this dinner that Mrs. Whitaker had proposed. He’d been doing just fine lately, keeping his distance from Dorie. And that’s exactly what he’d intended to do, until they made their trip to Virginia City. Soon their unholy ruse would begin and, he hoped, end in a matter of days. But the invitation wasn’t one Alberta would allow him to refuse, and if this dress rehearsal helped send the Parkers packing then it would be worth it. He’d be free of his obligation to help Dorie any further.
He took the steps to her front door and was about to knock when Jeremiah sauntered by, holding a lead rope on Lightning. “Hey, Shane. You coming for Dorie?”
He nodded. “I’m a little early.”
“S’okay. Go on in. Dorie won’t mind. She’s probably in there fixing supper for me or fussing with her hair, getting ready.”
“You sure?”
Jeremiah squinted into the late-afternoon sunlight. “I’m sure. I’ve got to groom Lightning. She needs a real good rubdown for all the riding I’ve been doing lately, then I’ll be in.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Jeremiah nodded, his dark blue eyes fixed on what Shane held in his hand. Shane held the package to his side, trying not to bring attention to it.
“What you got there?”
“Uh, something for Dorie is all.”
Jeremiah’s dark russet hair fell into his eyes as he cocked his head, trying to get a better look from his spot near the barn. “It’s not her birthday or nothing, is it?”
Shane didn’t know when Dorie’s birthday was, though he did remember an invitation for cake one year. “Don’t think so.”
Then the young boy’s eyes lit. “You brought her a gift. Oh, she’s gonna go on and on about it. Nobody brings Dorie gifts.”
Shane realized too late that that was probably true. He hoped Dorie wouldn’t read more into the gesture than was fitting and proper. He wasn’t a gentleman caller, bearing gifts in order to gain a woman’s affections. No, this was simply a token of…repayment. Yes, that’s what it was.
“It’s not that kind—”
But Jeremiah had already lost interest and had entered the barn. Shane spun around and opened Dorie’s front door. “Dorie!” he called out. “You in here?”
When she didn’t answer, he headed for the kitchen. Jeremiah had said she was most likely cooking him supper. He approached the door and a flowery fragrance, light, airy and completely female, teased his senses. How odd for that scent to be coming from the kitchen. He popped his head inside the door and peered inside.
And witnessed a sleeping Dorie, buck naked, lying inside an oval basin bathtub.
All the air rushed out of Shane’s chest. He swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from the most serene and beautiful sight he’d ever encountered. With her nearly dry coppery locks draped over the
tub, Dorie was exposed to him, her face peaceful, her breasts, full and ripe and peeking out from the still water, her shapely legs drawn up at the knee. Shane knew he shouldn’t look. He should tear his gaze away and back out of the room, but his feet stayed planted. He watched the gentle easing of her chest, viewed the creamiest skin a man could ask for and gazed upon liquid-veiled auburn curls that concealed her womanhood.
Shane took a calming breath and continued watching her, his manhood fully alert. He wanted nothing more than to forget about this dinner with the Whitakers, remove all his clothes and join Dorie in that tub. He ached to touch her again, to kiss her lips and weigh the twin rosy-tipped globes in hand. Something began to snap within, but he pulled hard with all his might to rein in lusty thoughts of making love to Dorie, driving his body deep into hers and pleasuring them both.
Shane shuddered at his own thoughts, hating himself for not having more control. He understood the moment for what it was, realizing that he would never again witness Dorie in such a state. He reminded himself of her youth and inexperience. She was vulnerable to him because he agreed to help her. He couldn’t take advantage of her. He wouldn’t.
With one last look, Shane finally did back away, entering the parlor. Then he thought better of being inside the house with Dorie, opting for the porch, where the cool air might hasten to bring him some relief. He exited the house through the front door and waited.
But the image of Dorie swamped his body with heat, and no amount of cool afternoon air would ebb the tide that flowed within him.
He cursed himself for not heeding his own dire warnings to stay away from Dorie. He cursed himself for his lack of willpower. He cursed himself for wanting her the way a man wants a woman. His mind told him no, but his body begged to differ. His body begged…for her.
Shane shook off that ill notion and scratched his forehead so hard he drew blood. He winced and cursed aloud this time.
“Shane?” Dorie stood just inside her doorway, wearing an overly large robe, wrapped together with tie strings, looking at him curiously. But all he could think about was what she probably didn’t have on underneath that robe. He cursed again.
“Shane, did you cut your head?”
“No—yes. It’s nothing.” He stared at her, his mind flashing images of her sleeping naked in that tub.
“Come in. I’ll tend to it.”
“No. Don’t worry about it.”
She narrowed her eyes, ready to argue, but he shook his head and, for once, Dorie didn’t argue. “O-kay.”
He followed her inside, the package weighing heavily in his arms. Suddenly, he felt like a fool.
“Am I late?” she asked. “I must have fallen asleep in the tub.”
Shane closed his eyes and prayed for mercy. “No, I came a little bit early.”
She smiled and cast him another puzzled look. “Why?”
“I, uh…” He shoved the package at her. “Here. This is for you.”
Surprise registered on Dorie’s face as she stared down at the package. “For me?”
He nodded. “Just open it.”
Dorie sat on the parlor sofa and rested the package in her lap. She made a fuss over the ribbon ties, carefully unwinding them, then removing the paper. She lifted out the light blue dress and stood to gain a better look at it fully. “Oh, this is…it’s so pretty, Shane.”
Shane had hoped she would think so. It wasn’t fancy by any measure—a simple dress from the general store—but the color suited her eyes and he judged the fit would be right. “You ruined your dress in the mud the other day and don’t say you didn’t. I know it was damaged beyond repair.”
“But you didn’t have to do this.”
“I, uh—” he began and swallowed hard. “I wanted to.” And that was the truth. Shane had more critical things to spend his money on, but something compelled him to gift Dorie with something she really needed. She’d helped tend him when he was injured, then helped save his heifer and the calf, doing so without qualm; purchasing her a new dress seemed the least he might do.
“It’s too much,” she whispered. Apparently, Mrs. Whitaker’s instruction was taking, because the old Dorie would have said what she’d really meant. That he couldn’t afford it.
“It’s just a simple dress,” he said, feeling awkward.
“Oh, Shane. It’s very thoughtful of you.” She set down the dress and walked over to him. “Thank you. I’ll wear it tonight.”
“Fine. I thought you might need, uh…might want to wear it tonight.”
She smiled and reached for the dress. Then, on an impulse he clearly witnessed by the light in her eyes, she pressed a kiss to his lips.
Shane closed his eyes, breathing in the sweetly feminine scent of exotic flowers, and imagining untying that robe to press his hands inside and caress her soft skin.
He jammed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, willing himself to keep from doing all those things. Willing himself from disrobing Dorie, picking her up in his arms and marching straight into her bedroom.
Lucky for him, Dorie broke off the kiss quickly. Then she smiled into his eyes. “I love the dress. You’re the most honorable man I know, Shane Graham.”
And once again Shane was reminded of all the reasons he shouldn’t touch Dorie McCabe ever again.
Chapter Nine
Dorie didn’t have much experience with courting. Actually none at all if she thought on it hard enough, but tonight she sure felt as if Shane was courting her. He’d come over looking handsome in a pair of dark trousers and his Sunday best white shirt. He wore a string tie and, from the looks of it, might have made a trip to see the town barber today, as well.
He’d brought her a gift, a pretty blue dress that matched the color of her eyes. She glanced once more in the mirror, still surprised that he’d picked a dress that fit her so well, cinching in at the waist and flaring out slightly. She lifted her hair up, pinning the curls in place and allowing a few soft tendrils to touch the rounded scoop of her collar. Floss fringe edged her wrists and the hem of her dress, making a plain frock something more stylish.
Dorie filled her lungs and picked up her reticule, ready for her first and only dress rehearsal at being Mrs. Shane Graham, dutiful wife and doting sister. She hoped she’d pass muster, because in fewer than three days, she and Shane would be doing this for real in Virginia City.
Dorie recounted all of the lessons she’d had with Mrs. Whitaker about composure, grace, manners and proper speech. Heavens, she sure hoped she’d remember it all.
“You’re ready, Dorie. Now just be yourself.” She repeated to herself Mrs. Whitaker’s final words of advice. “And the Parkers will love you.
“That’s if you can fool them into believing you’ve been living with Shane for the past two years as his wife,” Dorie added.
Dorie hesitated no longer. She strode into the parlor, then remembered her lesson on proper gait and slowed her pace, then raised her chin in the same manner as Mrs. Whitaker and sashayed into the room with what she hoped was poise.
Shane waited by the window, his profile visible to her as he stared out to view the shadows in the yard as the sun began to set on the horizon. “I’m ready,” she announced.
Shane spun around. With sober eyes and an expression less than encouraging, he swept his gaze up and down her body before nodding.
Nervously, Dorie walked forward, remembering Mrs. Whitaker’s words of caution not to blurt out the first thing that popped into her mind. She wanted to scream at Shane for his lack of enthusiasm. Why hadn’t he commented on the dress he’d brought her? Why, being a seamstress of sorts, she knew this dress fit her better than most she owned and, at the very least, the soft sapphire color did complement her eyes.
“Shall we go?” she suggested most elegantly, holding back her anger and concentrating on the night ahead.
Shane nodded. He opened the door for her and they walked to his buckboard. Dorie didn’t climb right up, but waited by the side of the wagon for Shane.
He stopped, blinked his eyes then came up behind her, placing his hands lightly on her waist to help her up to the seat. “Thank you,” she said, remembering her manners.
She fussed a bit with her dress then waved a farewell to Jeremiah, who had poked his head out the barn door as the wagon lurched forward. Shane hadn’t said one word to her since she’d kissed him. Maybe her boldness had him riled; she couldn’t be sure. No matter, she wouldn’t have taken back that kiss. It was her way of thanking him for the thoughtful gesture of buying her a dress, and if he didn’t like kissing her, well, he sure hadn’t shown it. He’d kissed her back fully and she knew he had enjoyed it just as much as she had.
They sat side by side in the moving wagon for a full five minutes in complete silence. When she’d finally had enough, Dorie shot him a glance. “It’s a nice night.”
Shane grunted.
Dorie pursed her lips and drew a breath. “I want to thank you again for the dress.”
He nodded.
She tried again. “You look handsome tonight, Shane. I’ve never seen you in your Sunday best.”
Shane slipped a dubious glance her way.
Then she remembered Shane’s “almost” wedding to Marilee. He’d been dressed in his best then, too. “Oh, I guess I have. But that doesn’t count.”
He bunched up his brows as if trying to puzzle something out, but didn’t say one word. Not one darn word.
Dorie’s well-intentioned patience was at an end. She couldn’t hold her tongue and speak pleasantries any longer. “Shane Graham, what’s gotten into you? You haven’t said a thing to me since we left my house!”
Shane pulled the horses to a halt, stopping the wagon just yards from the Whitakers’ ranch gate. He closed his eyes as if praying for peace or some such thing, then turned to look at her.
A coyote howled, the distant eerie cry familiar but, oh, so unnatural. Soft breezes blew by, lifting the curls off her shoulders. Dorie sat ramrod still under the setting sun and waited for Shane’s response. And waited. Finally, when he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. “I am not your savior, Dorie. I am not your white knight coming to rescue you. I am not a hero. And I’m certainly not the most honorable man you know. Far from it.”
Abducted at the Altar Page 11
