“That’s Cat. He’s a good mouser, but he keeps to himself most of the time.” Culver reached down and ran a hand over the cat’s head and back, drawing out a loud purr.
Kezia grinned and knelt down so Jemimah could see the cat. The baby flapped her hands and babbled, excited by the animal.
“Aren’t calico cats usually females?” Kezia asked, glancing up at Culver then back at the feline.
Culver nodded. “They are. I don’t know the odds, but male calico cats are rare.” The man smirked and pointed to the cat as he opened both eyes and stretched lazily. “He thinks he’s pretty special.”
Cat yawned and rolled over, turning his back to the humans disturbing his nap.
“Well, I should say so. Just look at how easily we’ve been dismissed.” Kezia stood and looked to Culver with a teasing smile.
He grinned. “Like I said, the cat mostly keeps to himself. He must like you or you wouldn’t have even seen him. He generally disappears when someone comes in here, except for Woody Burnside. He’s the mule tender for the mine and a man with a big heart. The animals seem to know that. Woody even has three chickens that follow him around.”
“I saw them earlier when he came to meet his bride, Meizhen.” Kezia held back a giggle as she recalled seeing the man walking outside with the chickens following him like little lost pups. “He seems like a nice man.”
Culver nodded. “Woody is a fine person. He’ll make some bride a good husband.”
The mention of a husband made Kezia cast Culver a sideways glance. He’d certainly make a fine-looking husband with that solid chest and those broad shoulders. As her gaze lingered on the all-too-attractive cleft in his chin, she wondered what it would be like to press a kiss to it then work her way up to his enticing lips.
In need of a distraction, she turned to look at the horses in the stalls. “You own all these?”
“All but a few of them. Their owners board them here,” Culver reached into a stall and rubbed a hand along the neck of a gray horse with a thick thatch of dark mane. “Isn’t that right, Slate?”
The horse bobbed his head and blew out a puff of air, making Kezia laugh. She’d never had the opportunity to spend much time around horses, although she loved them. “I’m sadly lacking in skills when it comes to horses, Culver. Perhaps you’d teach me how to ride.”
“I’d be happy to. It’s not a hard thing to learn, especially when you have the right mount. I’ve got a good-natured mare that would be perfect for you.” Culver took a handful of feed from a bucket and held his hand in the stall of a sleek chestnut mare. “You’d be good to Zee, wouldn’t you, Honey?”
“Oh, she’s lovely,” Kezia said, moving next to Culver so she could look in the stall. The warmth radiating from him wrapped around her, making her wish she could lean against him, lean into his strength, and rest there a while.
Instead, she took Jem’s hand in hers and guided the baby to pet the mare. Jemimah squirmed and wiggled, gleefully giggling.
“Looks like she’s ready to give riding a try, too.” Culver watched the baby’s enthusiastic response.
“Oh, no, not for a while, yet.” Kezia stepped back and slowly wandered down the length of the stalls, listening as Culver talked about each horse, including the doctor’s horse that was due to deliver soon. The beautiful mare with large, dark eyes seemed a little skittish, but that was reasonable, considering her advanced pregnancy.
A long loft overhead piqued her interest and she stepped back, looking up to see any number of metal shapes. “What’s up there?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes, trying to get a better view.
“Just some stuff I made,” Culver dropped his gaze, as though he was embarrassed.
“What sort of stuff?” she asked, spying a ladder nailed against the wall at the back of the livery. She covered the distance in a few quick strides with Culver trailing behind her.
“It’s nothing, Kezia. Really.” He glanced upward then at her. “I like to make things the fellas around here think are useless. It’s just for fun. When I finish a piece, I stick it up there out of the way. Mostly, it’s just junk, I guess.”
“I want to see what you’ve made.”
Before Culver could protest, she handed him the baby, removed her cloak and scarf, and scurried up the ladder. She stepped into the loft and caught her breath. What Culver referred to as junk, she saw as amazing works of art.
“Oh, Culver,” she said, glancing down at him then returning her gaze to the dozens of artistic pieces someone would pay a small fortune to own. There were butterflies the size of dinner plates made of smooth metal, their wings bent as though they were ready to take flight. Toadstools, fairies with feathered wings, flowers, trees, birds, and rabbits sprang up among wrought iron benches, tables, and chairs. There was even a large, ornate cross hanging on the wall.
Kezia stepped beneath a garden arbor that looked like a tree with swooping branches that intertwined. Amazed by the talent of the humble, quiet man standing below her with trepidation etching lines of worry across his brow, she couldn’t understand why he hid his art.
“Promise me something,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“I’ll do my best,” he replied, giving her a curious look.
“Promise when the railroad comes through here, you’ll put all these items in a train car and ship them to Denver. I know a store that would happily sell these items for you. Women would love to decorate their gardens with your artwork, Culver.” She smiled at him. “Why in the world do you hide these beautiful pieces? They are beyond wonderful. You have a rare talent. It’s a shame to not share it with the world.”
His neck and face turned red at her words, but the light in his eyes glimmered. It wasn’t hard to realize her praise pleased him.
“If there’s anything you’d like, you’re welcome to it,” he said, then turned his attention back to the baby bouncing in his arms.
Kezia watched him as he tenderly, albeit a bit awkwardly, held her daughter. He didn’t appear distraught or appalled by the baby. Instead, he seemed interested in studying the little person in his arms.
When he kissed Jem’s rosy cheek, Kezia felt a sharp pain in the region of her heart. She glanced down to see if it had somehow been wrenched from her, but it continued beating, wild and responsive, in her chest. In all her life, a man had never appeared as attractive to her as Culver did in that moment.
The ease she felt with him, the confidence she held in him taking good care of Jemimah, left her rattled. Seeking to curtail her wayward thoughts, she looked around and spied a rope hanging from the ceiling a few feet away from the loft.
“Is that rope solid?” she asked, pointing to it.
Culver glanced up at it. “Yeah. I put it there after I climbed up in the loft and knocked over the ladder. I had to shimmy down a post and ended up so poked full of slivers, I looked like I’d wrestled a cactus. After that, I decided the rope might be handy to have if the ladder ever fell over again, but that shouldn’t be a worry since I nailed it in place.” His gaze narrowed as he observed her. “Do you need help down? Are you scared of heights?”
Kezia laughed and lifted her skirts in one hand. “Not at all.” She backed up and took a few running steps, jumping out of the loft and grabbing the rope in her hands.
“Kezia!” Culver shouted with a panicked look on his face. He frantically glanced around, as though he searched for a place to set the baby, so he could rescue her.
She laughed again and climbed higher up the rope then wrapped it around the calf of one leg and let go with her hands, hanging suspended in the air.
Chapter Six
Culver’s jaw dropped as Kezia slowly spun around overhead. Her hands twirled gracefully in the air, as though they wove some sort of enchantment over him. The gold and crimson stripes of her skirt whirled together as she tucked the ends between her legs, giving her more freedom of movement.
Awed by the sight of her, Culver gaped at his bride, uncertain what
to make of her. He’d never seen a woman do something as insane and utterly mesmerizing as Kezia’s impromptu performance with the rope.
One moment she was hanging upside down and the next she grasped the rope with both hands and held her body out, straight in the air, parallel to the floor.
He couldn’t begin to fathom the strength and agility it would take to do such a thing, let alone for a woman hampered by skirts and petticoats. The tinkle of her bracelets, as they slid up and down her arms with her movements, sounded like silvery bells.
In his arms, the baby bounced, staring up at her mother. “Ma, ma, ma, ma,” Jemimah chanted, reaching out her hands.
Culver shifted her against his shoulder, turning the baby so she could better see Kezia. “That’s your mama, all right, little one. Isn’t she something?” he asked.
The baby waved her hands and chortled, adding her agreement to his statement.
His mouth went dry as Kezia flipped over, hanging with her head dangling toward the ground. The position gave him an unobstructed view of her soft bosom as it threatened to spill out of the confines of her otherwise modest blouse. Although he knew a gentleman would look away, Culver intently gawked, wondering if gravity might work in his favor.
Suddenly, Kezia switched to an upright position and flicked the rope with her wrist, forming a seat. She smiled down at him, swinging back and forth with her skirts fluttering around her along with masses of her dark hair.
“If it was summer, I’d warn you about catching flies with your mouth open like that,” she teased.
Culver snapped his mouth shut and shifted Jemimah from one arm to the other. The baby lunged forward and he had to hustle to keep her from tumbling out of his arms.
He looked back up to see Kezia observing his every move. “She’s a handful. Yes?”
“Absolutely, yes.” He smirked at her. “But I think she must get that from her mother.”
“Perhaps,” Kezia said, leaning back and closing her eyes.
When she started to sing in a beautiful, clear voice, Culver nearly dropped the baby. Spellbound, he listened as she sang, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” In the years since the war when Longfellow’s poem was originally published, Culver had read it a few times. But this was the first time he’d heard it set to music.
The hauntingly lovely sound of Kezia’s voice blending with the message of the song tore loose the emotions Culver worked so hard to keep contained. Uplifted, devastated, exuberant, and overwrought, he remained unmoving with Jemimah in his arms and a lump firmly lodged in his throat.
A hush fell over the livery as even the horses and cow quietly listened to the song. When Kezia finished and the last note faded into the dust motes dancing around her, she twisted the rope free and slid down it, landing in front of Culver with a flourish and bow.
Bothered by the woman and the havoc she’d wreaked on his heart with her aerial acrobatics and incredible voice, he could do nothing more than stare at her.
“I think the cat got his tongue, little dove,” Kezia said, swirling her cloak around her shoulders then taking Jemimah from Culver and kissing the baby’s cheek. She looked back at the cat. “Did you steal his tongue, Cat?”
The cat meowed and licked a paw, as though confirming Culver’s inability to speak had nothing to do with him.
Finally swallowing down the emotion swamping him, Culver drew in a long, shaky breath and tipped back his hat. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Kezia asked, quirking a dark eyebrow as she nibbled on the baby’s fingers, making Jemimah squeal with delight.
“That… that… with the rope, and you…” Words seemed far too inadequate to describe what Culver had seen and felt as he watched her perform. And her voice, that singing voice. She must have brought men to their knees with it because he battled the urge to fall at her feet and beg her to sing another song.
If he’d possessed even one inkling of an idea about the way the gypsy woman would bewitch, beguile, and captivate him, he’d have refused to participate in the lunatic plan to bring brides to Noelle. Culver was strong, independent, and tough. He’d never needed anything from anyone, at least not since he left home and joined the Union Army.
Yet, here he was, near to undone after spending an hour in Kezia Mirga’s presence. As he studied her from the top of her silky hair to the tips of her worn black boots, all he wanted, all he wished for, was to take her in his arms and claim her for his own. The power of his need for her, of his longing for her, disturbed him so much, he felt as though he might suffocate if he didn’t put some space between them — or obliterate it completely.
“I’m sorry, Culver. I suppose I should have told you what I used to do, to be. I haven’t danced on a rope for such a long time, I just couldn’t quite help myself.” Kezia looked at him from beneath lowered lashes.
The embers smoldering in her dark eyes caused the heat that had been percolating in his midsection since the moment he met her yesterday to suddenly surge through his veins like steam released from a boiling kettle.
Of their own volition, his feet carried him a step closer to her. He cupped her chin in his hand, concluding he’d never touched anything as incredible as her skin. “What was it you used to do?”
“I worked for a circus. My husband and I had an aerial act we did together. I also climbed up a silk rope and sat in a swing where I would sing. It was one of the favored acts, while it lasted.” Kezia dropped her gaze to her daughter and ran her fingers through the baby’s dark curls. “The circus kicked me out when they found out Jem was on the way.”
“Circus,” Culver muttered, trying to grasp the fact his bride-to-be was a former circus performer. From what he’d observed, she’d most likely been a good one, too. “How long were you in the circus?”
“From the time I was fourteen.” She sighed and looked like she was tucking bad memories into a far corner of her mind before she lifted her face and shot Culver a dazzling smile. “That’s all in the past and where it will stay. What I’m interested in is today and the future.” She pointed to the doorway where they’d entered the livery. “In your letter, you said you live here at your business. May I see your home?”
Culver nodded, still trying to come to terms with the fact his future wife was a circus performer. Well, the comment about her skill at “performance arts” from the letter Mrs. Walters sent Rev. Hammond made more sense now. What in the world could Culver offer a woman like Kezia who was no doubt accustomed to adventure, excitement, and the busy pace of a big city? How would a marriage to her ever work?
He cast a quick glance at her as he led the way to his private quarters situated down the walkway between his two businesses. The scent of her unusual fragrance tantalized his nose and he questioned if he owned the fortitude required to let her go, to let some other man take her as his bride.
The tinkle of her bracelets and swish of her skirts as she stepped beside him confirmed he currently lacked the strength to walk away from her. Not when he wanted to tug her close and kiss her until they were both breathless.
How could he be falling for a woman so full of surprises? At every turn, she left him perplexed and shocked. Like an idiot, though, he couldn’t seem to keep her from his thoughts.
He stopped outside the door to his private quarters. “I told you in my letter, but I’ll warn you, again, my rooms are simple and basic. Nothing fancy.” Culver allowed his gaze to collide with hers for a brief instant. She nodded her head and he pushed open the door, moving back so she could enter.
Inside, she slowly turned in a circle, taking in everything at once. Culver let his gaze dart over the fireplace, flanked by two sturdy chairs with a wrought-iron table he’d made between them. An old rug that had belonged to his mother covered the floor beneath the chairs. The pattern was faded from time and use, but it served its purpose well.
Although he called it two rooms, the sitting area and kitchen were really one big room divided by a dining table and four chairs. The ki
tchen had a good stove and a pump sink with several cupboards and shelves as well as a long counter.
He supposed most women would find the space adequate for cooking. He generally cooked most of his food in the blacksmith shop. In the morning, he set a pot of beans on a grate near the forge. By suppertime, they were cooked. The food was usually monotonous and somewhat bland, but filling.
“This is very nice, Culver,” Kezia said, unwrapping the blanket from around the baby and spreading it on the floor then placing the baby on top of it.
Culver watched as Jemimah flapped her arms and giggled.
Kezia grinned as she stood. “She likes to be free and unfettered.”
“Rather like her mother,” Culver mumbled under his breath, afraid to examine how true that statement just might be.
“What was that?” Kezia asked.
“Nothing,” Culver said, pulling a heavy kettle forward and adding wood to the stove. “Would you like a cup of tea? I just bought some the other day, thinking you might prefer it to coffee.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you, Culver. I’m fine for the moment, though.” Kezia smiled at him. “I do prefer tea, but I’d be willing to wager you’re a man who enjoys a bracing cup of coffee.”
“I am,” he admitted, then frowned. “Do you wager often? Have a problem with gambling?”
“Mercy! I should say not. It’s just a figure of speech,” Kezia said, turning from him as she walked around the kitchen. When she trailed her fingers over the top of his wooden counter, Culver rammed his hands in his pockets to keep from hauling her into his arms. She looked so at home in his kitchen, so right in his home.
“Ma, ma, ma, ma!” Jemimah chanted, rocking from side to side on her round bottom.
“Here, Jem,” Kezia said, returning to her daughter and kneeling in front of her. She took the rattle Culver had made from the pocket of her cloak and shook it for the baby. “See this, little dove? Culver made it just for you. Hear the rattle? Isn’t that fun?”
The Dove_The Second Day Page 5
