Her face grew even more solemn as she replied. "My aunt helped me to search, after my mother's death. Aunt Myrna knew the name of the man my mother loved, so we went back to Houston, where mother and Myrna were born and raised. His name was Phineas Brock, and we did find him; in the local cemetery. He died during the Battle of Wilderness, fighting for the Rebs."
He took in her words, remembering how he'd felt hearing his own father read the newspaper coverage of that bloody battle. "I'm sorry, Angel May."
She shook her head. "It is what it is. Besides, Mr. Brock was married to another woman. That's why my mother never wanted to talk about him. She was ashamed."
Now that he knew a little more about Angel May, he found himself wanting to comfort her. So, he wrapped her up in a protective embrace, and held her even closer.
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Now you know my story. What's your's?"
He blew out a breath. "Grew up on a farm outside of Sacramento. My folks grew vegetables, mainly avocados. It was me, my mother and father, two brothers, and my uncle and grandfather."
She whistled. "My, your mother had quite a passel to take care of."
He chuckled at that. "You're right. Just cooking us kept her in the kitchen most of the time. And the house was never clean for very long, because we boys were always roughhousing."
She was silent for a moment. "You told me before that your mother enjoyed taking care of your family, that she was fulfilled."
"Yes, I said that."
"You seemed so sure of it. Tell me, did you ever ask her?"
He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, did you ever ask her if she was happy taking care of such a large family? By your own accounts, you made a lot of work for her. My guess is you never inquired about her contentment, but you assumed she was happy, simply because she never raised her voice."
That observation gave him pause. Angel May had turned out to be very perceptive.
"Am I right?"
He groaned. "You're right. I never asked her."
"Then maybe you should rethink your views on how women ought to be spending their time. If you love your mother, and would make broad assumptions without asking her how she feels, then what of the rest of us?"
He felt his ire rising, but he tamped it down. Angel May was right. He'd never once asked his mother such a question, or even paused very long to consider it. He'd planned to spend the journey learning about his paramour, and instead, she was teaching him things about himself.
"I hope you're not cross with me, Gregory. I just had to speak my mind."
He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I'm not angry. Just surprised."
"I can be full of surprises, you know."
He heard the sultry invitation in her voice. "Show me, then."
She raised her face, pressing her lips against his.
* * *
Chapter 8
The morning's travels had left Angel a bit tired. But as she crossed the beautiful, verdant green grounds of San Francisco's Golden Gate Park with Gregory, she felt her energy return. The early afternoon sun warmed her skin. With every step, the soft green grass gave way like a plush carpet beneath her flat soled slippers. Alongside her, Gregory carried their picnic meal in one hand, his free hand cradling her own.
The stroll across the park was a long one, but she didn't mind it at all. Rather, she relished the experience. She couldn't recall every touring such a lovely place. The park's planning had obviously been well thought out. Golden Gate Park was to the bustling, progressive city of San Francisco what an oasis would be to a desert; an unspoiled place, set aside to allow people to leave their cares behind and enjoy the full bounty of nature. There were paths laid out for walking, to allow one to explore all the varieties of trees and plants set thriving on the grounds and observe the small animals scurrying about.
Gregory's voice cut through her musings. "What do you think of it so far?"
She sighed with contentment. "This place is absolutely beautiful."
"And we haven't even gotten to the Conservatory yet. You're going to love it."
"I don't doubt it."
As they drew closer to their destination, they passed by another building. It was one story, and she could see a lot of foot traffic going in and out of the building. As her gaze rose toward the roof of the building, she noticed its distinctive design. The roof consisted of two wide, triangular cupolas, flanking a taller one in the center. Large cutout letters on the center cupola spelled out the word, 'CASINO.' Just below that, more cutout letters advertised the restaurant inside.
He seemed to notice her looking at the place. "Oh, there's a casino here. I didn't know that."
She shrugged. "I work in a saloon, I see poker games and gambling all the time. I'm far more interested in the Conservatory."
So, they moved on, until they reached the front lawn of the Conservatory of Flowers. She craned her neck to look up at the structure, which sat a bit above them on a grassy slope. The center of the building was capped with a domed roof, and on each side of the central area was a long, narrow wing. The entire building was made of glass, with wooden supports, and the sunlight sparkling on the many windows made for a lovely sight.
Awe filled her. "My, it's impressive."
He agreed. "It is. It's the largest greenhouse for miles around, and I hear they have hundreds of varieties of flowers inside."
Still taking in the grand exterior, she could feel the smile spreading across her face. "Well for heaven's sake, let's go in and see them."
Hands still clasped, they went to the front entrance, where the door was opened for them by a worker inside. Once they'd tucked away the picnic basket and their coats in a room set aside for that purpose, they began to tour the interior. They opted to tour without a guide, so they could enjoy each other’s company while they viewed the exhibits.
Navigating the paths of the greenhouse turned out to be quite entertaining. Each room boasted another grouping of exotic plants in full bloom. She inhaled the sweet fragrance hanging in the air as she explored all manner of rare orchids, succulents, and countless other flora. By the time they finished their tour, and stepped back out into the sunshine, she was convinced the Conservatory of Flowers was the most magical place she'd ever visited.
Shifting the basket around so he could grasp her hand again, he looked at her. "Did you enjoy that, dearest?"
"It was wonderful, and so was the company." She rose on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. The beauty of the day, and the sights and smells of all those magnificent flowers, had filled her with a sense of peace and contentment she'd not felt in a great while.
His answering smile belied his pleasure. "Tell me, what was your favorite flower?"
She pondered that difficult query for a few moments. "I think it would have to be the bearded Iris, the deep purple one. I've never seen one like that before, it was really lovely."
He nodded. "The sign said it was called the Plum Pudding, and that it came from Asia. I thought you might pick that one."
She stopped walking, looked up at him. "You remember all that?"
His dark eyes were as sincere as she'd ever seen them. "Sure. When I saw how you reacted to that flower, I knew I'd better take note."
Everything about his behavior today told her he was watching her, listening to her, and genuinely cared about her interests. Her smile broadened.
He chuckled. "You look mighty pleased."
"I am." She reached up to run her hand along his jaw.
Finding a nice, quiet spot away from the main walking trails, he withdrew a blanket from the basket he'd brought along and spread it out on the soft grass. Once they were seated there, she watched him open the basket and set out the food. There was a loaf of sliced bread, a wrapped bundle containing slices of roast turkey and tin of cookies. He'd also brought along two canteens filled with cool lemonade, and a small bottle of mustard for their sandwiches.
As he set a tin plate in front o
f her, she looked to him. "This is all very sweet, Gregory. What kind of cookies did you bring?"
"They're shortbread cookies, from Ruby's."
She clapped her hands together. "My favorites! Let me guess...my aunt told you?"
He shook his head. "Not this time. When I went by to order our basket, Ruby added them in and told me how much you loved them."
She shook her head, smiling. It seemed as if at least a few folks in town were rooting for their relationship to work out. Knowing that, she could ignore the naysayers and gossips who didn't approve.
Once each had fixed themselves a sandwich from the offerings, they sat next to each other on the blanket and ate. The spot he'd pick was shaded by the canopy of trees above them, and somewhat secluded. After they'd eaten, and enjoyed the lemonade and cookies, he tucked the remains of it back into the basket.
He got to his feet. "Stand for a moment, would you?"
She did as he asked, watching as he rearranged things. He set the basket aside, and moved the blanket so it rested on the ground right near the base of a poplar tree. Then he sat down, leaning his back against the tree, with his long legs stretched out in front of him.
He opened his arms and cast his gaze in her direction.
She took the silent invitation, moving to where he sat. She eased down onto his lap, stretching her own legs out perpendicular to his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
For a time, they simply sat, enjoying the fresh breeze and the warmth of each other’s bodies. The quiet in their little hamlet was only interrupted by the occasional murmur of conversation from other park goers passing by.
Sitting with him, enjoying the quiet and the comfort of his embrace, she could feel her heart opening to him. He didn't press her for anything, like some of the other men she'd courted; in fact, he seemed very content just holding her. She felt at home in his arms, as if this was the place she'd always been meant to be. The sounds of his breaths, the rise and fall of his chest, and the pounding of his heart seemed to sync with her own.
She could not recall a time when she'd felt this way about another man. He did something to her, something she didn't have the words to describe. Whatever it was, it felt marvelous. She wanted more of it, more of this serenity and bliss; as much as he was willing to give her.
He touched her cheek with caressing fingertips.
She raised her head, looked into his dark eyes. His intense gaze told her she held his singular focus, and it pierced her to the soul.
No words were spoken. None were needed.
His fingertips stroked along her jawline, then he guided her face toward his kiss.
The moment her lips touched, she bloomed inside, much like the exotic bearded iris. His tongue parted her lips and she melted as their tongues danced against each other. His mouth tasted of the tart lemonade and the sugary sweetness of the cookies. Her hands went to his sides, gripping the fabric of his dark jacket as the kiss intensified. She saw dancing flames, she saw swirling sparks. Her body felt as if were being seared by hot pokers. Between her legs, a subtle throbbing began, spreading and radiating to her extremities. The kiss lengthened and the throbbing grew more insistent. He felt the charge flowing between them, as evidenced by the hardness she felt beneath her hips.
Finally, she broke the seal of their lips. When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her.
She felt breathless, and if his own ragged breathing was any indicating, he'd been affected as well.
He stroked her face again, this time moving his fingertips along her hairline, in front of her ear. "Angel May, we must stop or..." he didn't finish his sentence, and he didn't have to.
She nodded. She knew what he wanted to say, knew what he was feeling because she felt it as well. The delicious, carnal heat sparking between them had been stoked just now. In that moment, the woman inside of her wanted to throw caution and morals to the wind, and take him somewhere where they could make slow, passionate love. But it was not to be, at least not yet.
She rose from her seat on his lap, took a few steps back in effort to put some distance between them. She would never have guessed their attraction would be so hot, so combustible, and she'd been wholly unprepared.
He stood as well, folded the blanket and replaced it in the basket. He then took off the dark suit jacket, tucking that into the basket as well. From the pocket of the crisp, wheat colored shirt, he drew out his pocket watch and looked at its face. "If we're to make the evening ferry we need to get back to the pier."
"Thank you again for bringing me here, Gregory."
He gathered the basket and held out his hand to her. "You're welcome. Since you enjoyed it so much, I hope to bring you again."
She slipped her hand into his. "You'll get no argument from me."
He started walking, and she followed close behind.
* * *
Chapter 9
Angel sank into the soft cushion of the armchair, with an open issue of the Tribune on her lap. It was Thursday evening, the only evening this week she could get away from the saloon. She rarely spent much time at the Taylor Hotel, but she was meeting Gregory this evening for what he'd described as a "tryst." Unable to pass up such an enticing invitation, she'd agreed, and now was waiting for him in the lobby.
Folks were coming and going all around her. Visitors with their valises were moving about, checking in at the desk with Mr. Taylor, or being shown to their rooms by one of the Taylor children. There was foot traffic moving in and out of the dining room, as well as a few other folks sitting in the armchairs around her, reading or chatting with one another.
When he came downstairs, she sucked in a breath. Suddenly the bustling room seemed to fade away. He looked so handsome in his tight-fitting denims and blue shirt. His dark locks were combed into place, and he carried his black Stetson in his hand. The hat matched the black boots on his feet. As he strode toward her, she admired the powerful muscles in his thighs. Glory, he was easy on the eyes.
He approached her and stuck out his hand. She took it, and held fast to it as they left the noisy confines of the hotel. Outside on the plank walk, she let him lead her north, up Town Road, past Ruby's eatery.
The evening air hung thick and heavy with humidity. Inhaling deeply, she could detect the scent of the rainstorm to come.
"Rain's coming soon."
His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his Stetson, but she could see the slight smile on his lips. "I know. We'll be fine under the shelter, though."
They crossed the strip of grass adjacent to Ruby's, which lead to the town's picnic grounds. Last spring, Rod Emerson and his workers had built a large shelter, as a means for sheltering the townsfolk from elements if the weather turned rocky during an event. The shelter, with its plank floor, four timber pillars, and shingled roof, now housed the six picnic tables that once dotted the grounds.
He stepped up from the grass onto the plank floor of the shelter, then helped her do the same. She then joined him at one of the tables. At this hour, they were the only ones there. Sitting next to him on the bench, she took in their surroundings. The leaves of the old trees, and the autumn gold grass, swayed in the breeze. A few yards away, she could see the water rippling on the surface of Hibbit's Pond.
Gregory's voice penetrated her thoughts. “You were quite the rabble-rouser at the debate."
She sighed, wishing he hadn't brought that up. Having already spent part of the day talking about the election with her girlfriends, she was in no mood to rehash the subject. "I merely spoke the truth. Nathan Greer is a chauvinist of the worst kind. Still, I don't want to talk about that anymore."
He tipped his hat up a bit, allowing her to see his piercing dark eyes. "Then I won't trouble you with it. What do you wish to talk about?"
By now, the rain came on. It was light, the small droplets falling softly over the windswept grass.
She watched him, letting her their gazes connect. His eyes held desire, smoldering lik
e coals in a grate. She reached out, let her fingertips trace the hard outline of his jaw. "Not a thing."
He took her cue, and draped an arm around her waist, pulling her upper body closer to his own. A breath later, he pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was sweet, yet held a passionate urgency that made her core melt. Her lips parted, and his tongue slid inside her mouth. That turned the kiss even hotter, needier. Her arms looped around his neck, and she felt him pull her onto his lap.
She went without protest, craving the warmth of his body against hers.
He broke the kiss once she was seated atop him. His dark, intense eyes swept over her body, while his hands caressed the outline of her breasts, confined inside her shirtwaist. As she arched to his touch, she cursed the infernal thing for denying her the full magic of his fingertips against her skin.
"My God, you're a beauty." He punctuated his words by placing a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck. Another kiss followed, then another, until the kisses melted into a series of soft licks, traveling the expanse of her bared shoulder, moving south toward the tops of her breasts.
Her soft sigh rose over the sound of the rain as her body responded to his attentions. His big hands resting on the small of her back served to steady her. The other hand dazzled her, lazily touring the curve of her skirt clad hip.
Never had a man touched her this way, so gently, so masterfully. It was as if he sought to push her into madness, and as he slid his caressing hand up her side and used it to free one of her breasts, she thought he might succeed.
She shivered as her breast was exposed to the cool, rain damp air. Watching him with wide eyes, she knew she should stop him; at any moment, someone could happen by and be scandalized by their activities. But as his hot mouth closed over her nipple, any thoughts of stopping him disappeared. He suckled her, and her eyes slid closed against the blinding bliss.
He was hard for her. She could feel that part of him pressing against her bottom like a length of iron. Caught up in the sensation of him sucking and licking her hardened nipples, she moved her hips against it.
Electing to Love Page 9
