by Tina Susedik
“Thanks.” He placed his plate next to hers. “I’ll get us some coffee and water for Tommy.”
Tommy piped up. “Can’t I have coffee, too?”
“No, young man, you can’t. It’ll stunt your growth.”
He held back a laugh as he walked to the beverage table. It wouldn’t be coffee that would stunt his growth, but Sarah’s cooking.
Jack’s eyes suddenly watered and his nostrils burned.
“Sniffin’ after the widder woman again, Billabard?”
Obviously Horace hadn’t taken advantage of the river. How the hell did he think a woman would want to get within ten feet of him?
“No, Manny. She invited me to join her and Tommy.”
“Maybe I’ll just mosey on over there and sit a spell.”
As much as he disliked the man, for his sake and everyone at the dance, the man needed to know he stank. “Can I give you a piece of advice, Manny?”
Horace puffed out his chest. “I’m not sure you can tell me anything about wimmin that I don’t already know.”
“Evidently you don’t know that women don’t care for people who stink. And you smell worse than a skunk, buffalo, and badger combined. Your clothes are so dirty, they could get up and walk away on their own. You have food in your beard, and your breath is as bad as a rotten fish.”
Horace raised his eyebrows. “I stink?”
“Good Lord in heaven, Manny, you smell so bad, I’m surprised people don’t faint when you pass by. Nearly everyone here smells unpleasant at the end of the day. At least they wash up in the morning, powder themselves to keep fresh, and change their clothes every few days. And the men shave as often as they can.”
“You think that’s why Miz Nickelson isn’t interested in me?”
Jack raked his fingers through his hair. Since he just got done telling the man he stank, dare he let him know his personality was as offensive as his body odor? Could he be that mean?
“Hell, Manny, I don’t know why she’s not interested in you, other than your personal habits. Who knows what goes through a woman’s mind?”
“Think I should go take a dip in the river?”
“Hell, yes. And use lots of soap. And change your clothes,” he added as Horace trotted away. “And burn those in the fire,” he muttered. Juggling two cups in one hand and Tommy’s water in the other, he headed back to Sarah.
“What did Horace want?”
“Nothing.” He sat cross-legged across from her after she took the coffee from him. “I did tell him he smelled and should take a bath in the river.”
“Oh, thank heavens.”
“Mister Manny stinks,” Tommy said, his mouth full of meat.
“Tommy Nickelson! That’s not a nice thing to say.” Sarah wiped his mouth with the edge of her skirt. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Well, everyone says so. They laugh at him, too.”
Jack contemplated Tommy’s words. Dare he reprimand the boy? Even if he wasn’t his son, a boy needed the guidance of a man. “It’s not nice to laugh at people, Tommy.” He couldn’t believe he was defending the man. “Maybe Mister Manny didn’t have anyone to teach him to keep clean. Maybe he didn’t have a wonderful mother like you do to teach him manners. We don’t know a person’s circumstances to judge them.”
The boy stopped chewing. “What’s cir . . . stands?”
Jack didn’t dare laugh after telling him people shouldn’t laugh at each other. “Circumstances. It’s what a person goes through in life. Maybe the things that happened to Mister Manny in his life were bad.”
“Like my daddy dying.” Tommy’s blue eyes widened. “But that wasn’t a bad thing.”
Sarah’s face reddened. “Tommy. What an awful thing to say.”
“Well, it’s true. I didn’t likes him and he didn’t likes me. You’re happier with him gone to heaven.”
Tears pooled in Sarah’s eyes. Was she happier or were those tears for the loss of her husband? Jack wished he knew. Maybe it was time to change the subject. “So, Tommy. I haven’t seen much of Daisy lately. Where’s she been?”
“She sleeps a lot.” Tommy eyed his mother. “And she’s getting fat.”
“Fat?” He glanced at Sarah, whose face grew even redder. “Daisy is getting fat and she’s sleeping?”
“I thinks you should look at her, Mister Bard. I thinks she’s sick.”
Sarah coughed into her coffee cup.
“What do you think, Sarah?” He couldn’t help teasing. “Is Daisy sick?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “As you probably figured out, Mister Billabard, I believe Daisy is going to be a mommy.”
Tommy nearly dumped his plate on the blanket. Sarah caught it just in time as her son bounced up and down. “Daisy is going to have puppies? Daisy’s going to be a mommy? Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.” He paused for a second. “How did puppies get in her tummy, Mommy?”
If Sarah’s face turned any redder, she’d give the coals in the fire pit a run for their money. “Yeah, Sarah, how did puppies get in Daisy’s tummy?”
Sarah bit her bottom lip then looked up at him through her long lashes. “I think a man should tell a boy all about it. Don’t you?”
My, she was feisty. He was never at a loss for words. He ran a hand over his face. How the hell did one tell a young boy about the birds and the bees? His heart lurched. Would his son have been as inquisitive? “Well . . .”
At that moment, a harmonica’s tune carried through the air. Saved by the music. Jack jumped to his feet. “Will you listen to that? It’s almost time for the dance. What do you say, bud? Let’s help your mother with the dishes.”
Tommy pouted and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. “Don’t want to.”
“Hmm.” Sarah tapped his nose. “That wasn’t a question, Tommy, it was an order. If he can help, so can you. That way we can all get to the party sooner.”
“Oh, all right.” Tommy’s sigh drowned out the harmonica.
“You take the silverware, and I’ll take the plates. Your mommy can bring the cups. I’ll race you to the river. Last one there has to dry.”
Before he and Tommy had a chance to take a step, Sarah grabbed the cups with one hand and lifted her skirt with the other. In a flash she was sprinting for the river.
Why, that little— “C’mon, buddy. We can’t let your mother win, can we?” He swept Tommy up in his arms and chased after her laughter, realizing he hadn’t felt this carefree since his wife died. He nearly dropped Tommy at the thought. He didn’t want to forget Lily and his son—no matter how much he was attracted to Sarah.
~ ~ ~
Sarah stopped by the river, trying to catch her breath. She waved to several families sharing dish duty.
“That was cheating, Miz Nickelson.” Jack said behind her. He set Tommy on the ground. “Since your mother beat us to the river, let’s get our dishes washed first. Okay, little buddy?”
As Tommy gazed adoringly at Jack, Sarah’s heart swelled with joy for her son and broke at the same time, knowing the man wouldn’t be in their lives for long. While she was happy to have a man pay attention to her son, she worried he’d get too attached. When they got to Oregon City, Tommy would have to get used to yet another man, and one who might not be as nice as Jack. Maybe they needed to keep their distance from him.
“Tommy and I should do them ourselves. You can go back and join the party.” Instantly she realized she’d hurt his feelings when he frowned, handed the plates to Tommy, and jammed his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.” She placed a hand on his forearm. He’d rolled up his sleeves to wash the dishes. The heat of his skin rushed through her like the water spilling over the rocks in the river. She drew her hand back as if she’d been burned. “I
t’s just that we’re used to doing for ourselves. And I can’t . . .”
“Can’t what?”
Oh darn, now she’d gotten herself into a pickle. “I can’t get involved with another man,” she managed to whisper around the lump in her throat.
“Who said anything about getting involved?” He tipped his head back and stared at the sky.
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to say anything more. Then he looked back at her, his brown eyes warm and tender.
“Sarah, I like you. I like Tommy. I think you like me. Can’t we be friends?”
“Friends.” She’d try hard, really hard to make the feelings growing for him whither like plants in a drought. “All right, if that’s what you want.”
“Hell . . . heck. It’s not what I want, but what you obviously want.”
When he clapped his hands, Sarah jumped.
“So, Tommy. Let’s wash these dishes and get ready to kick up our heels.” Turning his back to her, he squatted at the edge of the river, and with more force than necessary, cleaned their plates.
She’d really muddled things up with him. Would he still want to dance with her? Friends danced together, didn’t they? She was looking forward to ‘kicking up her heels’ as Jack had said. At least she could dance with Tommy. That would be as much fun, wouldn’t it?
She glanced at his broad set of shoulders leaning into her son’s much narrower frame. Tommy’s small hand rested on Jack’s thigh. Why couldn’t she have met a man like him before marrying Peter?
If she had, she wouldn’t have had Tommy, and she couldn’t imagine life without her son.
~ ~ ~
Having washed and rinsed their dishes, with Tommy’s hand in hers, they walked back to the circle of wagons. The music grew louder. Between the harmonica, concertina, fiddles, and rapid beat on a washboard, a rousing tune of ‘Turkey in the Straw’ greeted them. Leaving Tommy with Jack, Sarah headed to her wagon. She’d placed their dishes in the side box, when a hand clasped her shoulder.
“Jack?”
Without his smell as an advanced warning, she was shocked to see Horace behind her and not Jack.
“Why you asking for that man?”
Even though he’d bathed, put on clean clothing, and looked somewhat presentable, Horace still made her skin crawl, especially since he hadn’t removed his hand from her shoulder.
“Let go of me, Mister Manny.” Instead of rotten fish, his breath now smelled of whiskey.
“C’mon, Sarah. I’m all clean now. That’s what wimmin want, right?”
“Once again, sir, I’m telling you to get your hand off me. And I didn’t give you permission to call me Sarah.”
Horace’s narrowed eyes worried her. How far would he go? Everyone was at the dance. Since they were nearly the same height, she could see over his shoulder. Where were Jack and Tommy? Where were Jed and Greta? How could she appease the man?
“Tommy is waiting for me,” she said firmly.
“What about Billabard?” He spat the name as if it were a disgusting pile of oxen droppings.
“I don’t know if he’s waiting for me or not.” Sarah stepped around him, dislodging his hand. If she had to say she’d dance with him to get him back to the party where she was safe, then so be it. “We can’t dance here, Horace. I can’t hear the music well enough.”
His smile, which was more like a sneer, nearly had her changing her mind.
“You’ll dance with me?” He sidled toward her. “How many dances?”
“You’re allowed only two, Horace. You know that.”
He smoothed his beard. “Two, huh? I guess that’s better than none.” He crooked his elbow at her.
Did he really think she was going to waltz into the group on his arm? Not a chance. She’d rather pick up dried buffalo chips for the entire train for the rest of the trip. “I have to finish putting away our supper things. I’ll meet you there.”
To her relief, Horace dropped his arm to his side. “If you say so. I’ll save you a drink.”
“Not likely,” she muttered after he’d disappeared into the rapidly dimming sunlight. How the heck was she going to get out of dancing with him? Did he even know how to dance? Maybe she should wear iron skillets on her feet to protect her toes. At least he’d bathed and put on clean clothes. Less chance of getting lice or bugs from him.
After tossing a damp rag over the back gate, she scurried past wagons, eyeing each shadow in case Horace should jump out at her. The music and laughter grew louder as she approached the dance area outside the circle of wagons.
She hesitated as her gaze swept the grounds searching for Jack and Tommy, praying she’d find them before Horace saw her. They both stood by the table of sweets. Hopefully Jack was curtailing the amount of cake Tommy ate, or surely the boy would suffer a tummy ache and she’d be up with him all night.
“Mommy, Mister Bard is teaching me to dance.” Tommy’s awkward jumps from foot to foot put a smile on her face.
“I can see that. Will you do me the honor of the first dance?”
Tommy stomped his foot. “Mommy, a lady doesn’t ask a man to dance. A man has to ask a lady.”
Sarah placed her fingers on her lips to hide her grin. “I’m sorry, sir.” She watched the crowd and tapped her foot, waiting for her son’s request. She didn’t have to wait long. Tommy tugged on her skirt.
“Ma’am?” he held out his small hand to her. “Can I . . .” He looked at Jack. “I mean, may I please get to dance with you?”
With a curtsy, she took his hand. “Why, kind sir, I thought you’d never ask.” As Tommy led her to the grassy dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder. Jack’s dimples had deepened and his chest puffed out in what could only be described as pride. Why would someone be proud of a boy who wasn’t even his own? First making Tommy help with the dishes and now teaching him how to ask a woman to dance. As much as she wished differently, he was inching his way into her heart.
By the time Sarah and Tommy had skipped and jumped their way through the lively jig, she was breathless. She’d forgotten how exhilarating dancing was, and only nine of her toes hurt. Good thing her boy was still slight of frame or she wouldn’t be walking. The look of joy on his face was worth every sore appendage. The little imp even held her hand as they walked back to Jack, who was talking with Greta and Jed.
“Here, Mister Bard.” Tommy held out Sarah’s hand. “It’s your turn now. Better ask her like you taught me or she may not dance with you.”
Jack coughed into his hand and winked at Sarah. “I certainly will, young man.” He turned to Sarah and bowed. “Miss Sarah, may I please have the pleasure of this dance?”
Sarah couldn’t hold back a giggle. First blushing like a fool and now tittering like a lovesick teenager. The man must think she was crazy. She glanced at Greta, who nodded.
“Go ahead and enjoy yourselves,” Greta said. “We’ll watch Tommy.”
How she longed to join the merriment of the dancers to the rousing polka, but Tommy was her responsibility, not Greta’s. “I couldn’t possibly let you. Don’t you and Jed want to dance?”
Greta flipped a hand at her. “Oh pish-posh. Jed and I are too old to dance. Besides he couldn’t get his feet going in the right direction to save his soul. The last and only time we danced, we ended up in a pile on the floor. Now shoo.”
“If you say so. Thank you, Greta.”
Jack put his hand at the small of her back and guided her into the crowd of partiers, weaving between flapping arms, kicking heels, and stomping feet. If this party was held in a building, surely the floor would collapse.
Her core quivered at the heat of his palm at her back. Wishing she had fancy gloves to wear as a shield between their skin, she placed her hand in his and laid the other on his broad shoulder.
&n
bsp; Before she could give any more thought to being in his arms, he pumped their arms three times to the beat of the music, then led them in an energetic polka, zigzagging through the dancers. He spun her until the faces around them blurred. His warm, deep, rich laugh vibrated through her system, until she lost the beat.
Without chastising her, he stopped, pumped their arms again, and took off, barely giving her a chance to keep up with him. It seemed the man loved to dance—and was damned good at it.
The music stopped. Expecting him to lead her back to Tommy, she was surprised when he kept her in his arms, and moved them to a much slower waltz. Even though he kept their bodies at a proper distance, Sarah swore she could feel her breasts pressing against his broad chest, not to mention the sensation of their hips joined together. Distracted, she stepped on his foot.
I need to get a grip on my emotions.
Perhaps what folks said about widows was true, that they missed being with a man. She certainly didn’t long for Peter’s physical presence, but a woman could sure dream about being with a man like Jack.
“I’m sorry,” she demurred. “Guess I’m better at the polka than the waltz.”
Jack’s brown eyes twinkled down into hers, causing more flutters that swept from her heart, through her stomach, and down into her female parts, lain dormant for so long and now flaring to life.
She had to be honest with herself and acknowledge her body had never reacted like this with Peter. Was something wrong with her, to feel this way toward a near-complete stranger when she hadn’t with her own husband?
“That’s all right. I’m tough. I can handle a dainty tromp on my toes.”
“Very honorable of you to say, but my feet aren’t dainty.”
Horace tapped him on the shoulder. “Cuttin’ in, Billabard.”
“No, you’re not, Manny.” Jack gripped her fingers tighter. “I’m finishing this dance with Miz Nickelson.”
He grabbed Jack’s elbow. “You ain’t. She promised me a dance, and I’m takin’ it now. You can’t take two dances in a row with a woman, anyway. It’s . . . it’s . . .” Horace stuck his nose in the air. “It’s not a polite thing to do in society.”
