Outlaw for Christmas (9781101573020) (11 page)

She glanced at him, uncertain. He smiled, raising his eyebrows, waiting for her to say . . . what?

“Uh . . .” That summed up her thoughts on the matter.

“Oh, wait.” He grabbed another box and shoved it into her lap. “You should have opened this one first.”

Ruth couldn't imagine what might be in the second box that would make the first acceptable, but she was willing to give it a try. She removed the top, and her breath caught.

Emerald silk spilled into her hands, incredibly soft, unbelievably brilliant. At first, Ruth thought Noah had bought her material, until she pulled it from the box and realized she held the skirt of the most gorgeous dress she'd ever seen.

Possessing a low, square-cut neckline with a cinched waist and shoulder-strap sleeves, the garment was starkly beautiful in its simplicity. No need for lace or frills, the cloth itself created adornment. Ruth clenched her hands in the skirt and lifted the material to her face.

The jeweled shade of the gown stirred a memory: Noah's mouth on her breasts, her feet as cool as snow, his hoarse voice seeming to rasp along her skin like the supple tongue of a cat.

Garnets and emeralds, Ruth. Flame through the trees.

She shuddered and lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I've never seen anything so lovely.”

“I have.”

They stared into each other's eyes as the fire's shadows danced across the walls. She wished he'd join her here on the floor. She hoped he'd kiss her now as he had only a few times before. No man could buy a woman a dress like this, underclothes like that, and kiss her as he kissed his cousin from St. Louis.

“Walker. Thought you two were going to town.”

The sound of her father's voice made Ruth jump even as the sight of him in the doorway had her slapping the lid back on the box of black silk.

“What have you got there, Ruth?”

She twitched the full skirt of the gown over the top of the box. “A gift from Noah.”

Her father walked closer, frowning. “A garment for a gift?”

Improper, but if he knew about the black underclothes . . .

“I love it,” Ruth blurted out. “I'll wear it tonight.”

Noah appeared confused. He had been so thrilled over the very first gift he'd ever given that she did not want his excitement tarnished in any way. He obviously had no idea that unmarried men did not buy unmarried women clothes. He had not meant to offend, and she would not have him insulted for it.

She had to get rid of her father before he said anything else to Noah or asked what was in the other box and Noah decided to share her brand-new undergarments.

“I'm starving.” She stood, bundling the hidden box into the skirt of the dress. “If you'd help Tim get the wagon ready, Noah, I'll run upstairs and change.”

“All right.” Noah wasn't slow. He knew she wanted to get out of the house without any further discussion with her father, so he thumbed his hat and headed for the door.

Ruth was right behind him. “Have a nice dinner, Father. Oh! I think I heard Tildy calling.”

“You forgot a box, Ruth.”

She stumbled and nearly dropped the concealed box to the floor, where its guilty contents would have spilled all over her feet.

Ruth turned just in time to see her father pull the top off the last gift. Ruth's gasp was audible. She held her breath.

“What do you think I put in there?” Noah murmured at her shoulder. “A dead cat?”

From the expression on her father's face, maybe so. His nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something foul, and he reached into the box with two fingers and drew out . . . an open-toed, high-heeled black slipper.

Then he raised a brow at Ruth and Noah where they hovered in the doorway. “These are hardly the type of shoes a lady would wear. Your toes will be exposed.”

Ruth hurried across the room and snatched the box and the shoe from her father. “They'll be hidden under my skirt.”

Just like my black lace underwear.
Ruth's cheeks heated at the thought, and she returned to stand in front of Noah.

“And these colors—black and dark green.” He glanced at Noah. “Ruth doesn't wear those colors.”

“She should.”

Ruth winced. “Noah, we need to be going.”

He ignored her. “Ruth isn't Susan, Mr. Kelly.”

Her father's gaze lifted to the portrait. “And she never will be.”

Noah put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. The feeling of inadequacy that usually followed those words from her father disappeared with Noah's touch and his words.

“Because she's Ruth. Special and beautiful in her own right. Pink and yellow and pale baby blue were for Susan. Putting them on Ruth only makes their differences more apparent.”

Her father continued to stare at the portrait of his perfect little angel as if entranced. “I never realized . . .” he murmured.

Ruth hadn't, either. The first thing her father had done when she'd arrived was order her a new wardrobe. The clothes had been pink, yellow, and blue. As Ruth grew older and bought her own clothes, she'd never thought to buy anything but more of the same. And never felt as if she belonged anywhere because she had nothing of her own—not even her clothes.

She'd never realized, but Noah had. Ruth rubbed her cheek along the green silk of the dress.

“Your dress,” Noah whispered. “Your color, your style. Put it on, Ruth. Put everything on—new from the skin out—then let me see you as you are.” He nodded at her father, who still stared at Susan's picture. “Not as he thinks you should be.”

“He never told me I had to be her.”

“No, he only told you you weren't good enough as yourself.”

“He wanted me to be a lady. Not an urchin or an orphan.”

“You can't change the fact that you're an orphan, and you were never an urchin.”

“Have I become a lady?”

“No.” She blinked, shocked. “You're a step above a lady. You're a princess. My princess.”

“Maybe you
can
call me princess,” she allowed.

Noah kissed her forehead and guided her toward the stairs. She turned her head to say good night to her father, but he was gone. So was the brandy decanter from the mantel.

Ruth sighed. He wouldn't come out of his office again tonight, and he'd never miss her.

She would not allow old disappointments to ruin new hopes. Noah was here. It appeared he wasn't leaving. He understood her better than anyone did or ever had. Noah thought she needed black silk undergarments?

Who was she to argue?

Ruth had to admit that she looked breathtaking in green. The dress fit as if it had been made for her—tight at the waist, her breasts thrust from the neckline; the tiniest bit of black lace peeked out, making her skin appear pearly, not pale.

And the slide of silk instead of cotton along her skin . . . She'd never felt anything like it.

Just as she'd never felt anything so arousing as Noah's gaze on her as she descended the stairs. Without his even touching her, she felt him all over her body.

His fingers closed over hers. His skin was chilled, his hand so much larger, rougher, and harder than her own. He drew her close as if they would dance, then stared into her face.

“This is how I see you, Ruth. Silk on satin, velvet in the night.”

His breath, warm despite the chill emanating from his coat, caressed her temple. She thought he might kiss her. Oh, how she wanted him to.

Instead, he bent and lifted her into his arms. She could do nothing but clutch at his neck as the world whirled round and round. “What are you doing?”

“There's snow out there, Princess, and you've got your toes hanging out of your shoes.”

Ruth glanced down to where, indeed, her toes peeked out of the tips of her shoes and her ankles, shrouded in black stockings, were revealed by the upward flip of her skirt. Ruth flung the emerald material over both ankles and toes.

“I can walk, Noah. A little snow won't kill me.”

“No, but if it's in my power to keep you from being sad or hurt or even cold, I'll do whatever I have to do.”

She traced his sharp cheekbone with her knuckles. “That's a better gift than the dress.”

“But not half as pretty.”

He carried her out the door, across the porch, down the steps, then deposited her in the wagon. Annabelle threw up her head, and sleigh bells jingled, along with Ruth's memories.

“I went on a sleigh ride once.”

Noah gave her a quick sideways glance and picked up the reins. He had only to jiggle them and Annabelle shot forward, prancing so that the bells on her harness rang sharp and clear, the sound dancing off into the night.

“When was that?”

“The second Christmas I was here. Mother wasn't well, but she adored Christmas. So Father bought her a sleigh. It was beautiful—painted red and green and gold—with bells all along the edges that rang more loudly even than Annabelle's. We bundled Mother in quilts and furs and went for a ride. You should have seen her face. She loved it.”

“What happened to the sleigh?”

“Father burned it.”

“What?” Noah's hands jerked on the reins, and Annabelle snorted her displeasure. “Sorry, girl,” he muttered, loosening his hold. “Why would he do that?”

“Mother loved the ride, but when we came home, she was chilled and overtired. She got a fever, and she never recovered. The night she died, I woke up and saw flames outside my window. I thought the barn was on fire. But when I ran to look, there was Father watching the sleigh burn.” She sighed. “I can't say that I blame him, but I do miss that sleigh. Christmas has always been difficult for him because she loved it so much.”

“I'm surprised he keeps Christmas at all if that's the case. Unless he does it for you.”

“Me?” Ruth laughed. “Hardly. No, he keeps Christmas because it would look odd if he didn't.”

“What difference does it make how it would
look?
”

“Father is concerned with appearances. He's the town founder. It wouldn't do for it to be said that he did not celebrate the birth of our Lord. Folks could get the idea that he didn't believe in God. Then where would he be?”

“I don't know. Where?”

Though his voice sounded a bit sarcastic, Ruth answered, anyway. “God-fearing people wouldn't do business with a man they didn't think was God-fearing. They wouldn't live in a town founded by such a man. He'd do anything to make certain the town lives on.”

As if it had heard her words, Kelly Creek popped up in front of them. The landscape of Kansas was odd—flat mostly, very few trees, but once in a while a dip or a curve could make towns, cows, and Indians appear as if from nowhere.

Lights shining from the windows sparkled like golden stars against the indigo night. “Look at that,” she whispered, and took Noah's hand. “Kelly Creek is his legacy.”

Stiff and unyielding were his fingers, just like his voice. “Why aren't you his legacy?”

“I'm not of his blood.”

“The town doesn't have his blood, either.”

“Oh, but it does. He carved this place out of nothing. He put all of himself into the town. He lost everyone he loved here. Kelly Creek was built with his blood.” Noah raised an eyebrow. “Well, not literally, but you know what I mean.”

“I guess I can't exactly fault a man for pretending he's someone he isn't just to get what he wants.”

That wasn't what she'd meant, but before she could say so, they pulled to a stop in front of the hotel, and Noah jumped down. He tossed the reins over the hitching post and lifted his hands to help her down.

Swinging Ruth into his arms again, Noah carried her across the mix of frozen mud and snow, then through the door of the hotel. There he set her down. Though his hands released her, his eyes held her captive.

“I could get used to being carried everywhere in your arms,” she murmured.

Noah helped remove her cloak, then he removed his coat and hat. Her eyes flicked to, then away from, his guns, which he seemed to wear everywhere. They appeared as much a part of him as his dark brown hair.

Hair that was far too long for a banker, but she liked it that way. Would she ever have another chance to fill her hands with Noah's hair as she kissed his mouth, his chin, his neck?

“Ruth?”

She'd been staring at the starched collar of his linen shirt; a tie was wound about his throat, hiding the smooth hollow where his pulse beat steady and sure. She'd like to yank off that tie, the shirt, too, and press her lips to his skin, feel the beat of his heart against her mouth.

He swallowed, and she echoed the movement before raising her gaze to his. “Hmm?”

His smile secret and heated, he knew what she was thinking. “Our table?”

They followed the manager, nodding to acquaintances peppered about the dining room. Ruth was pleased to discover that for as many people who said hello to her, an equal number said hello to Noah. Of course, he worked in the bank and saw a lot of people. But she'd been concerned that the two of them would not be accepted when seen together because of Leon. Everyone loved Leon—except her, it seemed.

Ruth stifled a sigh. She hadn't seen Leon all week, and that saddened her. But this night was for herself and Noah. Regrets over Leon had no place here.

When they were seated at their table, Noah leaned over. “No one can keep their eyes off of you in that dress. I know I can't.”

She did feel pretty. Much prettier than she ever had before. Half of the reason was the dress; the other half was Noah. No one, not even Leon, who professed to love her, had ever looked at Ruth the way Noah did—as if the sun set on her, the world began with her, life revolved around her.

Or maybe she was only seeing what
she
felt, reflected in his eyes.

They ordered wine before dinner, dined on thick steaks and thin-sliced potatoes; then they talked about his job and the people of Kelly Creek. Over coffee and pie, they discussed Tildy and Tim.