Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (16 page)

Brenda ducked into the bushes and glanced back to make sure she couldn’t be seen. She shuddered to think what Jenny would do if she found her with Kip again.

Kip had signaled her to join him in the woods next to the church, and she was convinced that Jenny would descend on them at any moment.

“I can’t stay long,” she whispered.

Kip took both her hands in his. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I wanted so much to see you.” She would have come sooner had Mrs. Hitchcock not cornered her and given a detailed description of her sacroiliac problems. Brenda had no idea that such an annoying condition existed.

“I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble with your sister,” Kip said, his voice filled with regret.

She smiled up at him. “I had a really good time that night. I think about it all the time.”

“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”

“I love hearing your voice.” Indeed, she often imagined his voice at night as she lay awake long after her sisters had fallen asleep. “Hearing you sing is like being hugged,” she whispered.

His face softened before turning red. “Hugged by my voice. I like that,” he said. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“It’s true, every word.”

His eyes brimmed with tenderness. “I just wish we could spend more time together.” A look of determination crossed his face. “I’m going to talk to your sister.”

Brenda sighed. “It won’t do any good.”

He looked crushed. “I . . . I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek, and he held it there. “I don’t know what to say. My sister will never let us be together.”

“There has to be a way.” He studied her for a long moment. “Would it be so awful if you went against your sister’s wishes?”

She looked into his kind eyes. “I could never do anything to hurt Jenny,” she whispered, fighting back tears. She pulled her hand away. There she was again, the good girl. Doing exactly what everyone expected her to do.

Seeing the despair on his face, she tried to explain. “Jenny took care of us after my parents died.”

She shuddered. That horrible December when they almost starved to death continued to haunt her. It was the driving force behind everything that happened since, even Jenny’s determination to marry her off to a rich man.

“She saved my life.”

“That doesn’t give her the right to command it,” he said. “Brenda, please!”

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered.

“Wait.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently on the lips. It was the first time Brenda had ever been kissed. Never had she imagined anything as sweet as the feel of his lips on hers.

Shy at first, she worked her arms around his neck. Confidence building, she then kissed him back and her heart filled with the most amazing joy.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Not because it was her first kiss, but because it would be their last. Pulling away, she turned and hurried to join her sisters.

Thirteen

A man who presumes to know a young woman’s mind is woefully
misguided and should be scrupulously shunned.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

F
or the rest of the day, Mary Lou was a nervous wreck.

She hadn’t been able to think of anything but her encounter with Mr. Trevor. Even the dime novel hidden among the pages of Mr. Wordsworth’s book failed to hold her interest.

Abandoning her book, she paced around the hotel room until Jenny finally threw up her hands in frustration.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet if you don’t settle down,” Jenny said, as if one more hole in the threadbare carpet would make a difference. “What in the world has gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Mary Lou snapped, glaring at Brenda for no good reason. Everything and everyone got on her nerves.

One kiss is all I ask .
. .

The very thought of kissing Jeff Trevor filled her with so many perplexing emotions she didn’t know which way to turn. Her inner turmoil ranged from utter dread to eager anticipation in the course of a single minute. Her mind swirled with indecision.

No sooner had she decided not to play his games than she changed her mind again. If she stayed away, he would continue to harass her. There simply was no choice but to accept his challenge.

The decision brought her no peace of mind. It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed. The Parker boy—what was his name? Thomas? Theodore? Whatever it was, he had tricked her into kissing him the day she turned thirteen. Then, of course, there was that two-timing Jimmy Mason, who smelled of hickory and tobacco and had the annoying habit of humming while he kissed her.

None of her previous experiences left much of an impression. Kissing was definitely overrated. Apparently, it was one of those annoying things that women were required to endure, like tight-laced corsets and rag curlers. Still, if tolerating Mr. Trevor’s kiss was all it took to get rid of him, it would be worth a few moments of inconvenience.

The following night, Mary Lou thought her sisters would never fall asleep. At last their even breathing told her it was time to make her move. She climbed out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb the bedding. She tiptoed out of the room, her ankle-length nightgown flapping around her legs.

Fortunately, none of the other hotel guests was around. Judging by the loud snores that the paper-thin walls failed to mute, most, if not all, of the guests were asleep.

Earlier she had hidden her favorite blue gingham skirt and a soft pleated shirtwaist in a linen cabinet at the end of the hall. Now, after gathering her clothes from the hiding place, she quickly slipped into the candlelit water closet to change.

The room was so small that both elbows touched the wooden walls when she lifted her arms to arrange her hair. Still slightly damp from her earlier bath, her hair tumbled down her back in a riot of yellow curls. Earlier Jenny had pleaded for her to get out of the bath lest she catch her death of cold.

The mirror was only wide enough to see one side of her head at a time. Her cheeks were rosy pink and her eyes feverishly bright. Whether her heightened color came from nerves or anticipation she couldn’t say, but the effect was most pleasing.

She wished for the luxury of perfume but didn’t dare go back to the room to retrieve it for fear of waking Jenny. Other than that lack, she was satisfied with her appearance. She took one last look in the mirror, hid her nightgown in the linen closet, and crept down the stairs to the empty lobby.

Outside the hotel, she stood in the shadows until she got restless. She pulled her father’s pocket watch from the little pouch sewn in the waist of her skirt. She moved into the circle of light provided by the kerosene lantern hanging from a hook above her head and checked the time. It was ten minutes to eleven.

She pocketed the watch and stepped back into the shadows to wait.

Maybe he wouldn’t show up. She paced back and forth in front of the hotel. Maybe he was watching her.

She stared across the street with narrowed eyes, but as far as she could tell, no one hid in the shadows.

The Rocky Creek Café was still lit. The restaurant sign had been replaced as it was every night with a sign that read L
EE
W
ONG’S
C
HINESE
L
AUNDRY
. A man pulled in front of the laundry in his shay. He flung a sack of dirty clothes in front of the door and drove off.

Music and laughter poured out of various saloons. Somewhere an argument ensued. Sharp voices escalated then faded away.

Someone stumbled out of a saloon singing at the top of his lungs. Two horsemen rode down Main Street and hitched their horses in front of Jake’s Saloon.

Where is he?

She had just about decided to return to her room when she spotted a horseman riding toward the hotel. Panicking, she quickly moved away from the light and hid in the shadows.

What was she thinking? Meeting a man under such ridiculous circumstances was just plain foolish. She closed her eyes tight as he drew near, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Heart pounding, she held herself perfectly still.

“Miss Higgins.”

Flinching at the sound of his voice, she opened her eyes. Her first thought was to run, but her feet refused to move.

He dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching post in front of the hotel. He walked toward her with long easy strides. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you here.”

She swallowed hard. He had her trapped, but she was
not
going to make a fool of herself. “You promised to leave me alone if . . . I don’t find . . . eh . . . things to my liking.”

“I’m a man of my word,” he said. “You just relax and let me know when you’re ready.”

“Ready?”

“For your kiss.”

How one got ready for a kiss like this, she had no idea. She was so nervous she could barely think. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She ran her damp hands along the sides of her skirt.

“You aren’t nervous, are you?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said a tad too quickly. Fearing he might have heard the quiver in her voice, she added, “If my sister finds us . . .”

“Ah, yes, your sister.” He thought for a moment. “If you prefer, we can find another spot. No one will see us in front of the newspaper office or barbershop.”

“Y–yes,” she stammered, “perhaps that would be . . . best.”

They walked side by side, leaving the hotel behind. She was careful to leave as much space between them as the boardwalk allowed, but even so she was keenly aware of his every move.

The streetlights didn’t reach this far down Main Street, but gaslights from a nearby saloon provided a soft yellow glow.

Once they reached the darkened office of the
Rocky Creek Gazette
, Mr. Trevor faced her and waited. His fine head was outlined by the light filtering though bat-wing doors across the street. His manly fragrance filled her head with an enticing combination of the great outdoors and freshly cut lumber. She felt all at once vulnerable and safe in his presence.

He moved closer. She stiffened and forced herself to breathe. His fingers circled her arms. Not knowing what else to do, she put her hands on his chest. They stood so close she could feel his sweet breath in her hair, feel the power of him. It was as if all of Texas coiled inside him.

He lowered his head and captured her lips in one easy swoop. With seemingly no effort, he took command of her senses. Nothing else existed but the touch and feel of him. Warm sensations worked down her spine all the way to her toes. It was unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced.

All too soon, it ended. He drew back and dropped his hands to his side.

She shook her head in an effort to think straight. She was hot—no, cold. Her lips burned. She didn’t know what to say, where to look, what to do. Where was Miss Abigail Jenkins and her book of endless rules when you needed it?

“Well?” he asked, as if he sought her opinion on something as mundane as a fence post. “What do you think? Have you changed your mind? Do you want to marry me?”

Shaken, she moistened her lips and flattened her back against the building so he couldn’t see her face. She hated that she could so easily be swayed by a man’s lips. By
his
lips.

Angrier at herself than with him, she shook her head hard. “No,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “Nothing’s changed. I have no desire to marry you.”

For the longest while he didn’t say a word. Silence stretched between them like a flimsy bridge she was too afraid to cross. She wanted to, oh how she wanted to, but something held her back. Flustered, she waited for him to make the next move.

“Very well,” he said at last, his voice low. “As were the terms of our agreement, I shall not bother you again.” He extended his crooked elbow. “May I escort you back to your hotel?”

She was stunned. That was it? No argument? No attempt to change her mind? He accepted her answer just like that?

“You needn’t bother,” she said. And because she was about to make a fool of herself by bursting into tears, she picked up her skirts and ran all the way back to the hotel.

Fourteen

A woman more knowledgeable than a man is obliged to hold her
tongue and feign ignorance in all matters except, of course, childbirth.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

O
n Tuesday morning Jenny walked down Main Street, seething all the way. Every window held a sign warning her and her sisters to keep out. She had no desire to step foot into a saloon or even the barbershop, but the warning signs irked her nonetheless.

The Society for the Protection and Preservation of Male Independence, indeed! Who ever heard of such a thing?

The ridiculous signs continued to pop up like toadstools after a spring rain. She was about ready to march into the marshal’s office and demand that he do something about the annoying signs when she spotted Scooter Maxwell. An idea suddenly occurred to her.

“Scooter!” she called.

He stopped in his tracks, but he looked ready to run in the opposite direction. His expression was hidden by the hair that fell in his face; he stiffened as she drew near.

“It’s okay,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I’m not going to harm you. I just want to talk to you.” She reached his side but he didn’t look at her. Instead, he kept his head down.

“Would you like to earn some money?”

He looked up, but a wary expression crossed his face. She knew that look, knew that feeling.

“I pay quite well,” she said. Her enticement seemed to work. At least he appeared more interested than suspicious.

He scratched his neck and then his arm. His skin reddened beneath his fingers. “What do I have to do?” he asked.

It was a good question and one she should have asked all those years ago, the day she unwittingly accepted a stranger’s offer to help. A decision that had changed her life forever.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be hard.” She looked him up and down. Never had she seen such a pitiful sight, but it was the haunting look in his eyes that touched her and made her more determined than ever to help him. She was particularly worried about his skin rash. If he didn’t watch out, it could become infected.