Corbin's Fancy

by Linda Lael Miller

  He went back to the house, borrowed soap and a towel, and set out for the creek, having politely turned down Isabella’s offer to heat water for his bath. He needed to be by himself for a while and, with the sight of a sleeping Fancy warm in his mind, he needed the bracing chill of the stream.

  While bathing, he tried to think clearly. Even though the balloon was out of sight now, it was still possible that Temple would stumble upon them. While Jeff ached for a confrontation with his enemy, he didn’t want it to happen when Fancy was around. The best thing to do, he decided, was get her to Spokane as soon as possible—once she was installed in the house there, he could backtrack and find Royce.

  Jeff climbed out of the stream, teeth chattering with cold, and dried himself with the borrowed towel. Then, gingerly, he put on his dirty clothes again. Lord, he wouldn’t mind reaching Spokane himself. He could get a new wardrobe there, as well as one for Fancy, and good food would be a matter of course, rather than one of luck. Best of all, he could bed his wife in chambers reserved for the purpose, rather than on the ground, on narrow roominghouse cots, or on the dusty floors of deserted flour mills.

  Just imagining it lifted his spirits. Silken sheets. Candles. Brandy in crystal snifters. And Fancy.

  Jeff walked faster, entered the house, and headed for the spare room.

  “You throw them filthy clothes of yours out here and I’ll wash ’em,” Isabella ordered.

  Jeff cast one baleful look at his slumbering wife and shrugged. Why was he hurrying? He didn’t dare touch Fancy, not with his friends sleeping just on the other side of a thin wall. Behind the door, he took off his clothes and tossed them out.

  He went to the bed and slid beneath the covers, achingly conscious of the warm, silken figure beside him. Nervous, he sat up, straightened his pillow, then sank back onto it again. The bed squeaked at the motion and Jeff closed his eyes, determined to sleep.

  But Fancy stirred and the scent of her pulled at him. He cupped his hands resolutely behind his head and reminded himself that he was furious with Fancy. Hadn’t she deliberately thrown Banner in his face that very day?

  Banner. Jeff could think of her now without hurting. He could think of her fiery hair, her clover-green eyes, her womanly figure. He hoped that she and Adam would be happy together, always.

  With a sigh, he turned onto his side, propping his head up in one hand. For a long time, he watched Fancy sleep—what a wonder she was, with that crazy tangle of golden hair, that angelic face.

  Jeff swallowed a laugh and a fierce desire to touch her, both at once. Some angel. The night before, she’d nearly killed him.

  The memory made Jeff stiffen and he moaned, rolling over onto his stomach, willing himself to sleep, sleep, sleep.

  But he was wide awake.

  He shifted so that he was facing away from Fancy, and thus from temptation. He rolled onto his back and counted cracks in the ceiling.

  A sudden and alarming thought struck him. Good Lord, Fancy had been sleeping most of the day! What if she were sick?

  He touched her forehead and found it cool. Satiny smooth. Jeff wrenched his hand back and resumed his study of the ceiling.

  Just beyond the bedroom door, he could hear Eustis and Isabella in the kitchen talking in hushed, companionable voices. End of the day voices. A tender sort of envy squeezed Jeff’s heart. Would things turn out that way for Fancy and him? Would they grow old together, share laughter and confidences in the night?

  Presently, the sounds from the kitchen ceased, only to be replaced by noises from the other side of the wall. “At their age?” he muttered.

  A giggle from the clump of moonlit hair and Fancy-scented flannel next to him was the reply.

  Jeff drew back his hand and swatted her soft derrière. Springs began to creak in the next room and there were muffled words, groans.

  Fancy giggled again, the sound muted by the blankets. “This is worse than that train in Colterville,” she whispered.

  “What train?” Jeff teased. “I didn’t hear any train.”

  “It shook the bed!”

  He laughed, a low laugh that felt good in his chest. “Is that what that was?”

  A small fist punched him in the side, then opened to move up and down his stomach, stroking. Fingers tangled mischievously in the hair on his chest, circled and taunted his nipples.

  The wall reverberated and the bed springs in the room next door reached an impressive crescendo.

  “My God,” said Jeff.

  “Don’t be such a prude,” reprimanded Fancy, her lips following the same path her fingers had. “You’ve had a bath—you taste so good—”

  “Fancy, stop.”

  She did, and Jeff wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Damn the wench, she didn’t know when to be obedient and when to rebel. “Why?” she asked, innocently.

  “Because—because I’m chapped, that’s why.”

  Fancy’s laughter pealed like a bell. “Chapped?” she almost shouted.

  “Shut up, for God’s sake!” Jeff hissed. “You don’t have to tell the whole world!”

  She covered her mouth and nose with the blankets, bunching them under her eyes with both fists, and her flannel clad shoulders shook with the effort of restraining her glee.

  Jeff scowled at her. He meant to lecture her. Instead, to his own surprise, he found himself saying, “Fancy, I love you.”

  She stared at him and the blankets slowly fell away from her face. “What did you say?”

  He reached up, traced the outline of her cheek with one finger. “I said I love you.”

  With a completely startling squeal of absolute fury, she drew back both of her feet and pushed Jeff out of bed. He landed on the floor with a painful thump.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked, too startled to be angry. Yet.

  She knelt in the middle of the bed, her arms folded. The wrapper gaped open and Jeff saw a tangle of curls, the faintest curve of one breast. “I don’t like being lied to, that’s why!” she declared, in a scathing whisper.

  Jeff’s mouth fell open. “Lied to?” he echoed.

  “Yes, lied to! I should have known that as soon as we ended up in the same bed—”

  He got up and shouldered his way furiously between the sheets, though Fancy was doing her best to block his way. “You think I want to make love to you?” he rasped, with dramatic amazement.

  She grasped the evidence in one angry hand. “I know you do!”

  Briskly, Jeff displaced her fingers. “Well, you’re wrong, Mrs. Corbin. I must say, however, that this is hardly the reaction I expected—”

  She was scrambling over him, as though he were a hurdle or an obstacle. “I’m quite aware of what you expected!” she railed, in a grating whisper, opening the bedroom door.

  Jeff sat bolt upright. “Where do you think you’re going?!” he demanded.

  “To the barn!”

  “The hell you are!”

  “The hell I’m not!” she replied, and there was laughter on the other side of the wall. Jeff devoutly hoped that Eustis and his wife were sharing a private joke.

  “Get back here!”

  Fancy stomped out, letting the door click shut behind her. Jeff flung back the covers and then realized that he couldn’t give chase—his clothes were still wet from Isabella’s washing them. He cursed and lay down again, willing himself to sleep.

  But Fancy had been gone for too long. What did she want in the barn, anyway? By God, if she slept out there, he’d blister her in the morning.

  Only minutes could have passed, but it seemed like forever to Jeff. Maybe Temple had found the place somehow, maybe he’d waylaid Fancy between the house and the barn.…

  Not having had much sleep the night before himself, Jeff was suddenly tired. He yawned and closed his eyes. He was worrying for nothing—Fancy was probably in the privy.

  Soon, Jeff was resting soundly and having a very pleasant dream in the bargain. The blankets slid down, cool air washed over him. And he was being
—well, he was being soothed in the most delicious way.

  Suddenly, he was wide awake. He tried to sit up and a hand pressed him back again. “What the hell—” he muttered, his words breaking off because he didn’t have the breath to sustain them.

  “Bag balm,” said Fancy solicitously. “You said you were chapped so I went out to the barn and found this. I think Eustis uses it for the cow.”

  “Christ,” said Jeff.

  And Eustis and Isabella shouted with laughter.

  Chapter Eleven

  ISABELLA WAS UP AND ABOUT; FANCY COULD HEAR HER humming in the kitchen, clattering pots and pans in melodic activity. She slipped out from under the inert weight of Jeff’s left arm and smiled to see her dress hanging neatly from a wall peg just inside the bedroom door. It looked clean and crisp; the stars that had been loose were now stitched neatly back into place.

  There was water in the pitcher on the night stand, and Fancy performed quick but thorough ablutions, careful not to awaken Jeff. The rigors of the coming day would consume him soon enough, so he needed his rest. She smiled again, with mischief. Yes, indeed, he needed his rest.

  Feeling strong and refreshed, Fancy gave her waist-length hair a brisk brushing. She could not pin it up, but that didn’t matter—the weight and softness of it felt very good.

  Jeff stirred and muttered something and Fancy’s heart twisted within her. Now that the magical night had passed, would they be enemies again? Would he be cold and uncommunicative? Would she, despite her best intentions, end up baiting him?

  Fancy bent and kissed the bridge of his aristocratic nose. There was so much she wanted to say to him and so much that she didn’t dare voice.

  The moment she entered the kitchen, Isabella presented her with a cup of hot, fresh coffee. Eustis had eaten and gone about his work, but Fancy could smell breakfast in the warming oven.

  After the events of the previous night, she had a little trouble meeting Isabella’s eyes. The woman set a plate of sausage, scrambled eggs, and toast before her with a good-natured thump.

  “No need to be shy,” she said. “Me and Eustis sure ain’t.”

  Fancy looked up with an effort, a blush in her cheeks, and Isabella laughed a happy, chortling laugh.

  “No shame in a man and a woman loving each other,” the farm woman imparted.

  Fancy couldn’t quite bring herself to comment on what she had heard through those thin bedroom walls, what Eustis and Isabella had probably heard, too. “Thank you for laundering my dress,” she said, taking up her fork. “You’ve been so very kind.”

  “That’s all right,” said Isabella brightly. She was bustling around the kitchen again, and Fancy looked up to see that she had been pressing Jeff’s shirt and trousers on a board near the stove. “Truth is, it’s a joy for me to have somebody to fuss over. Our girls are all grown and gone, don’t you know.”

  There followed an interval of comfortable chatter, with Isabella telling Fancy about her three daughters. All had husbands and families of their own, all lived at considerable distance from their parents.

  Fancy had just finished her breakfast when a gruff call sounded from the bedroom.

  “Frances!”

  Isabella smiled and thrust the clean trousers and shirt into Fancy’s hands. “Reckon he wants these,” she chimed.

  Fancy was nettled. “Why can’t he call me Fancy, like everybody else?” she muttered, more to herself than to Isabella.

  “That’s easy,” came the prompt reply. “He wants a name for you that nobody but him will use, Jeff does. If the rest of the world called you Frances, he’d say Fancy.”

  Fancy grinned. “You’re right!” she whispered, and then she took the freshly laundered clothes to her husband.

  He was grumpy, sitting up in bed, his hair tousled. “What took you so long?” he demanded.

  Fancy bent and kissed the top of his head. “Good morning to you, too, darling,” she chirped.

  Jeff’s mouth twisted in a reluctant grin. “Darling, is it? Last night I told you I love you and you kicked me out of bed. What a contradictory creature you are, Frances Corbin.”

  “I was—overcome with emotion.”

  He laughed and swatted her off-handedly and there was a softness in his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied, in a mocking drawl. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, his voice became serious. “Your hair is beautiful that way.”

  Fancy soared; she felt wild and sensuous. “Thank you very much, my good sir,” she said, with a stiff formality they both knew was pure pretense. “Now, will you please put your clothes on?”

  Deep blue mischief frolicked in Jeff’s eyes. With slow, measured movements, he flung back the covers, stretched, and then sat up. He was so totally, shamelessly male that, despite all their past intimacies, Fancy was moved to wonder.

  She bit her lower lip to keep from telling him outright that she thought he was magnificent. “A–Are we going back to the carnival camp or what?” she asked, in a small voice.

  Jeff slid languidly into his trousers, taking an inordinate amount of time, it seemed to Fancy, to fasten them. “We’re going to Spokane,” he said, and the simple words seemed fraught with sweet intrigue.

  Fancy took a few steps back. “How?”

  He put on his shirt, buttoned it to the middle of his chest, then opened his trousers again to tuck it in. The color flooding Fancy’s carefully composed face inspired him to grin. “By train. We’ll be there by tonight.”

  “Stop looking at me that way!” Fancy hissed, unaccountably flustered.

  Jeff arched one eyebrow and moved closer to her. “What way?” he countered smoothly. He was standing only inches away and Fancy was conscious of his damnable virility in every smidgeon and whit of her body.

  “L–Like I’m a piece of ripe fruit or—or something!” gasped Fancy. Here it was, broad daylight, Isabella singing happily in the very next room, and surges of incredible heat were pulsing through her, melting her.

  Jeff chuckled, bent his head, and nuzzled through her hair to touch her earlobe with his tongue. “Tonight,” he said in a rasp, and that one word positively reverberated with wicked intentions.

  Fancy didn’t wait to ask how they were going to find a train out here in the middle of nowhere, what they were going to do about the balloon, or anything. She scrambled out of the bedroom, fighting for every breath.

  Jeff followed almost immediately, of course, and all the while he ate his breakfast and chatted with Isabella, he watched Fancy, delighting in the reactions she couldn’t hide.

  She tried not to acknowledge his gaze, or meet it, but the truth was that she could feel it. He was preparing her, making silent promises, and Fancy was caught between outrage and a scandalous yearning for night to come.

  Soon enough, it was time to leave. Fancy had a brief respite in the business of thanking Isabella and saying good-bye. The exchange was a tearful one.

  Hershel, being their only baggage, was loaded into the back of Eustis’s wagon, content to munch dandelion greens in his cage. They drove through the nodding wheat to the railroad tracks; to Fancy’s surprise, there were other people waiting for the train, too.

  Jeff thanked Eustis, helped Fancy down from the hard wagon seat, and collected Hershel. The approach of the train was audible now, a metallic clacking sound mingled with those of escaping steam and a shrilling whistle.

  The locomotive stopped beside them with a smoky clatter and the two calico-clad women waiting with their husbands finally stopped staring at Fancy’s free-falling hair and outlandish dress. She boarded the train with help from both Jeff and the attentive conductor, and then the train was moving again.

  Jeff grinned as he settled into the seat beside hers, Hershel having been consigned to the baggage car. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “You’re blushing.”

  “Those women were looking at me,” Fancy replied, folding her hands in her lap and keeping her eyes down.

  “So were their husbands,” said Jeff with a
shrug in his voice.

  Fancy shifted her gaze to the wheatlands waving beyond the train window. “I hate it when people stare at me,” she whispered. Now that they were actually on their way to Spokane, she was feeling intimidated. Her life there would be different from anything she had ever experienced before, and she wondered how she could possibly be equal to it all.

  Jeff caught her chin in a gentle hand and turned her to face him. “Frances, people look at you because you’re beautiful.”

  Tears suddenly blurred her vision. “Because I’m strange, you mean!” she whispered fiercely. “Because I’m wearing a stupid dress with stars on it, b–because I couldn’t pin up my hair—”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” Jeff broke in, with tender clarity.

  There was no point in lying. Fancy nodded her head and sniffled in an attempt to regain her composure.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not a lady, that’s why! People will say, ‘Whatever possessed Jeff Corbin to take such a wife?’!”

  Jeff chuckled and kissed her forehead. “No. They’ll say, ‘Damn it, why does he get all the luck?’” He paused to smooth her hair back from her face. “You’ll have everything you want, Fancy—I’ll see to that. Jewelry, clothes, anything.”

  Pain stretched itself from Fancy’s solar plexus into every extremity. Did he think luxury was what she wanted and needed? What about his love? What about children?

  It was silly to suffer such doubts when he had told her just the night before that he loved her, but Fancy could not shake them.

  “I want to have a baby,” she ventured, just to test the waters.

  Jeff grinned. “I’ve been doing my best,” he said, looking comically wounded. Then, in an easy gesture, completely disregarding the other passengers aboard that train, he draped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  Fancy tried to look forward to reaching Spokane—no doubt the house would be grand. There would be good food and probably a bathtub big enough to languish in. There would be books and entertainments, pretty clothes, new people, parties.

  And gossip. It wouldn’t be long before society figured out that Frances Marie Corbin wasn’t one of their number. “Jeff Corbin married a show woman,” they would say. “She was actually wearing a dress with stars on it!” others would trill.