“I don’t know,” he replied softly. “Something about you makes me want to do that more and more.”
His every word affected her like a stroke from his hand. She nervously clasped her hands together. “You’re a lot more forward than I’m accustomed to.”
“I understand that, but my daddy raised me to speak what’s on my mind…and you are, Grace Atwood. When we get to Kansas, I’m going to head down to Texas and you’ll be coming back here. We’ll probably never see each other again, but you’re not a woman easily put out of a man’s mind.”
Grace turned back and looked up at him again. He was pretty vivid himself, came the thought. “I’ll not forget you easily, either.”
Then she confessed softly, “I don’t really mind the kissing, you know, but I think if I were better prepared for them, I wouldn’t be so—so woozy afterward.”
“You think so?” he asked, both amused and fascinated by her innocent assessment.
She nodded. “Yes. Don’t you?”
Jackson shook his head. “No.”
She studied his dark presence. “Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t have anything to do with being prepared, it has to do with passion and sparks between two people.”
“And is that what you think we have—passion and sparks?”
He nodded. “It’s starting to look that way.”
Grace pondered that for a moment, then said, “Well, I think you’re wrong. Kiss me again, and I’ll prove it.”
Jackson went still. “Excuse me?”
Grace couldn’t believe she’d asked that. It was as if she’d somehow been transformed into one of her outrageous aunts, but the cat was out of the bag now, and it was too late to do anything but row. “It’s the only way I know to prove to you that my theory is correct.”
Jackson looked down into her fire-flecked face. “This theory being, that if you know a kiss is coming, you won’t be woozy afterward.”
“Yes,” she concurred quietly.
“I can’t just kiss you out here in the open like this. Folks’ll talk, and your godfather would have my hide.”
Grace scanned the darkness. “How about those trees over there? If anybody asks what we were doing, I’ll say we were scouting for a place to rig up a shower.”
He laughed softly. “A shower?”
“Do you have a better lie?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
“Not off the top of my head, no.”
“Then mine will have to do. Besides, everyone’s so tired, they’re probably asleep.”
He reached out a hand. “Come, then.”
Grace placed her hand in his and he gently assisted her to her feet.
They walked away from the camp and into the moonlight darkness of the trees. Once they were alone, hidden from prying eyes, they stopped.
He looked down at her and asked, “How’s this?”
Grace had never done anything like this before and a part of herself demanded to know if she’d lost her mind. But another part knew this had nothing to do with theories; being in his arms took her to a realm so tantalizing and tempting, she wanted to enter it again, if only for a few moments.
Savoring the heat of her closeness, the faint scent of her perfume, Jackson stood unmoving a moment. He then used a guiding finger to gently raise her chin so he could feast his eyes on the lush dark bow of her mouth. “Are you ready?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she managed to reply with more bravado than she felt. The nearness of him was already making her woozy; her inner bells were chiming like Easter morning, her heart racing like a rabbit in full flight.
He lowered his mouth to hers and brushed his lips ever so faintly across her own. “Are you sure?”
Grace’s eyes slid closed of their own accord and the initial heat of contact made her walls begin to crumble like Jericho. “Yes,” she whispered back.
Jackson eased away, then rubbed a slow thumb over her parted lips. Watching her closed lids flutter in response to his touch filled him with desire. “I dreamt about this mouth last night.”
He kissed her gently; faintly at first, then again and again using the same lingering motions. Grace, holding onto his strong arms, fleetingly acknowledged the blanket slipping away but paid it no mind.
Wanting more than just a brief taste of her, Jackson drew her closer until her womanly curves nestled intimately against his hard, lean frame and her arms came up to hold him tight. Satisfied, he deepened the kiss, feeling her lips part under his passionate conquering. For a moment he nibbled on the sultry fullness of her bottom lip, then darted his tongue against her mouth’s tender corners. What had begun as a simple test had turned into something else entirely for Jackson Blake. Murmuring his kisses across the small brown shell of her ear before recapturing her lips, his desire to have her rose and flared. He wanted to lean her back against the big tree behind them and watch her eyes fill with heat as he opened the buttons on her gray dress, and hear her soft intake of breath when he brushed his lips across the perfumed warmth of her throat and the tops of her breasts. He imagined slowly raising her skirts so he could fill his hands with the sculpted ripeness of her hips, then showing her how the erotic touch of the right man could make her burn hot as the Texas sun.
“What’s the sum of thirteen and nine?” he husked out against her ear. He needed to distract himself lest he turn his fantasies into reality.
Grace was caught up in such a whirlwind of new sensations she couldn’t even recite her name. His previous kisses had been chaste compared to the winds buffeting her now and he wanted her to recite sums? “Um, twenty-three,” she breathed, “no, twenty-four.”
Smiling, he pulled back so he could look down at her braced in the circle of his arms. “Remind me not to put my money in your bank. Since when is thirteen and nine ever twenty-three, or twenty-four?”
Grace tried to clear her faculties of the haze clouding them, but had great difficulty doing so. She’d never been kissed with such intensity before.
“That wasn’t fairly asked,” she whispered, still shaken by her strong reaction to his heady magic.
“Why not?” he questioned lightly, raising her chin so he could see for himself what his kisses had done to her. “You said being prepared wouldn’t leave you woozy.”
Unable to resist the lure in her, Jackson ran a finger down her velvety cheek. Once again, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of Grace Atwood. “Doing sums should be second nature for a banker lady like yourself. Still believe in your theory?” he asked in a voice that stroked her.
She focused on his night-shrouded eyes. “Yes,” she lied softly, baldly.
“Lightning’s going to strike you, lying like that.”
She turned her head away to hide her smile.
“I’m glad I didn’t shoot your godfather this morning,” he said, turning suddenly serious.
“I am too.”
“I saw the tears in your eyes and I thought you were in trouble.”
Only now could Grace acknowledge how moved she’d been by his attempt to defend her honor. She’d never had a man champion her before. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek in silent thanks. “The tears were for my father, but if I’m ever in trouble, you’ll be the very first person I’ll call for.”
“I’m holding you to that.” He turned her hand to his lips and kissed the soft center of her palm.
The possessive intimacy of the gesture made Grace see stars. So far, he’d kissed nothing but her lips and her palm, yet every inch of her body seemed to be alive and pulsing.
He said, “We should probably get back before someone sends out a search party.”
She agreed, but she didn’t really want to go. Being with him under the stars this way made her feel reckless and daring, something the usually level-headed Grace had never felt with any other man, not even the traitorous Garth.
Jackson wasn’t ready to let her go either. He could hold her this way until dawn. But they had to get back, so he picked up her blanket, draped it about her shoulders,
and walked her back to the main camp.
When they reached Grace’s darkened wagon, she looked up at him and said, “Goodnight, Jackson.”
But he still didn’t want to leave her. “Suppose I wanted another kiss—would I get one?”
His voice was as hushed as the night and the power of him seemed to touch her everywhere. “My experiment covered one kiss.”
“The experiment’s over. This one will be for pleasure…”
She’d never had a man promise her pleasure before, and the anticipation made her senses rekindle all over again. They were drowning in each other’s eyes. Grace could feel her lips parting of their own accord and Jackson could feel his desire unfurling for want of her. The air became even more charged as he reached out and slowly traced a crescent over the silken brown skin of her cheek. A man of some experience, Jackson knew that if he moved any closer or touched her in any other way but this he’d wind up carrying her off, and to hell with the consequences. “I’m about two seconds from carrying you off like one of Hannibal’s raiders, Grace Atwood.”
The whispered declaration rippled over Grace, and everything that made her woman responded to the sensual call in his eyes. “And I’m about two seconds away from letting you, so go to your wagon, Jackson.”
Wondering how much longer he’d be able to keep from spiriting her away and making slow, sweet love to her, he touched her cheek once more. “Goodnight, Grace.”
“Goodnight, Jackson.” And she went inside.
Jackson was whistling softly as he headed over to the end of the valley where Martin Abbott and his men were bedded down. Their fire had burned down to almost nothing, but a pipe-smoking Martin Abbott was hunched before it, feeding it wood. The barrel-shaped man turned to appraise Jackson for a moment, then went back to adding sticks and twigs to the growing flame.
“You know, son,” Martin declared sagely, “the last time my Gracie slipped off in the dark with a fella, he left her at the altar with a broken heart.”
He then turned to Jackson and let him see the seriousness in his fire-bathed face. “Did you know that?”
Jackson found himself taken by surprise. “No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Promised her aunts if it ever happened again, I’d settle up with the man myself. You following me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then enough said.”
Martin stood. “Goodnight, Blake.”
“Goodnight.”
Jackson watched him disappear into the dark. Martin Abbott had just handed him another piece of the puzzle known as Grace Atwood, but he wasn’t certain what to do with it or where it should be placed. He did know that any man capable of leaving Grace on her wedding day had to be a fool.
The next morning, Grace said good-bye to her godfather and his men and thanked them for their help. Grace waved wildly as the two wagons began to roll. “Thank you, Uncle Marty!”
“You’re welcome, baby girl. I’ll be back for the big send-off,” he called back. “Take care of yourself.”
The wagons rumbled up the valley’s rise, then headed toward the road.
As Grace rejoined the women, the sight of Jackson walking up made her remember last night, but she had no time to savor the vivid memories. He put everyone right to work. First order of business—raising their tents.
With the aid of a few of the women he demonstrated the tent-raising process by erecting one. He took questions, gave answers, and then stepped back.
Using hammers and horseshoes, the women drove the spikes into the spring-soft earth and began. Grace had assigned two people to each tent, which meant fifteen tents had to be erected. Since she’d opted for no roommate, that brought the number to sixteen. Tent number seventeen belonged to Jackson, but he’d already erected his tent early this morning before breakfast. The three tents designated to house the supplies had been put up yesterday by Martin and his men, but the boxes of cooking utensils, spare wagon wheels, water barrels, rope, and the like had to be put inside. That would be the next order of business.
Right now, they were concentrating on the tents. They worked in teams, and the women who’d never raised one before found it a bit more difficult than the experienced Jackson made it appear. Some had their canvas inside out, some hadn’t sunk their stakes in the right spot, others had no aptitude for the task at all and would’ve thrown up their hands had Jackson and the other brides not given them encouragement.
While they worked, the women wiped the sweat from their brows and talked about where they’d string the many clotheslines that would be needed and where the trestle tables might be set up for their common meals. Oberlin graduate Fanny Ricks and Loreli volunteered to help Grace put together the duty roster. Everyone agreed a roster would be helpful in keeping the campsite clean and in divvying up chores like laundry and cooking.
In the end it took nearly three hours to get all the tents raised, and when the women were done, they wiped their brows, stood back, and viewed their accomplishments with pride. This section of their green valley now resembled a small tent city, and they’d built it with their own hands.
Jackson walked through the canvas city, checking ropes and stakes. He made a few of the roommates retie some of the knots that held the corners of the tents to the stakes—they weren’t taut enough. The perspiring work crew didn’t mind relashing them because no one wanted their tent blown over by a strong wind in the middle of the night.
When the general seemed reasonably assured that the tents would last the duration of their stay, he gave them the go-ahead to move in.
Shouts of jubilation and hallelujahs filled the air and the women hastened to get their belongings.
The afternoon saw them spend another few hours loading up the supply tents. They carried tack and barrels and blankets and rope, then went back for shovels and tarps and wood for building a corral for the animals. There were water jugs and cooking stoves, shoes for the horses, straw and feed.
Why in the world did I order all this? Grace wailed to herself, after making what felt like the fiftieth trip. Her poor arms felt like rubber, and having on a tight corset beneath her simple blouse and flowing skirt certainly didn’t help her breathing.
Once the women got everything stacked inside the three supply tents, they wearily trudged over to the two long trestle tables to enjoy their first dinner together—Zora Post’s highly seasoned pepperpot. The stew, made chiefly of tripe and dumplings, had never been one of Grace’s favorite dishes, but after a day of hauling goods, moving crates, and tackling tents, Grace would’ve eaten boiled shoes, she was that hungry. All the women were hungry; hungry, weary, and sore from the full day of physical labor. That night, when Grace’s head hit her pillow, she went right to sleep.
Chapter 5
Grace awakened tired and stiff. Thoughts of Jackson Blake had filled her dreams. Now, as she lay in her bedroll listening to the dawn silence, she came to the conclusion that regardless of how well Jackson Blake kissed or how tempting being reckless with him appealed to her inner woman, it had to stop. Yes, she’d had this talk with herself before, and no, she hadn’t followed her own advice, but this time she planned to chisel it into stone, mainly because she was developing feelings for him, feelings that had to be nipped in the bud before they grew any stronger.
He’d said it himself, they’d probably never see each other again once the wagon train reached its destination, he’d return to his life and she to hers, but the more time she spent around him the more time she wanted to spend around him, and that made little sense to a woman as well known for her good sense as Grace.
She’d been devastated when Garth Leeds backed out of the wedding, but now she could admit that a small part of herself had been glad. Even though Garth had been courteous and gentlemanly while courting her, she sensed that their married life would never equal her parents’ union in intensity and passion because Garth hadn’t shown himself to be a passionate man. He never would have kissed her the way Jackson had the night outside the church,
or leave her as breathless and stupefied as Jackson had last evening.
Garth had treated her like a china doll, but Jackson treated her like a woman, and there lay the rub. She sensed the passion in him, could feel the sparks, but there was no future in it. He’d go his way and she hers, and when he left, he’d take with him the spark and passion she’d always envisioned sharing with her heart’s mate. So from now on, she’d stick to business when it came to dealing with Jackson Blake, and this time she would keep the vow come hell or high water.
After taking care of her morning needs, Grace dressed and set out to go meet Loreli. The gambler and a few of the other ladies had volunteered to help set up the duty roster, and to Grace’s way of thinking, the sooner a roster could be posted, the smoother the camp would run. As it were the Mitchell sisters had yet to lift a finger to help with setting the table for meals or aiding in the clean-up. Grace couldn’t wait for Mr. Drain to deliver all the horses tomorrow so she could put the two siblings on mucking detail. A good dose of humility would do them good.
Even though it was an overcast May day, the camp was bustling with life. Grace received and called back many hellos and good mornings as she walked through their small tent city. Some women were hanging clotheslines while others were dragging large vats to the spot where the laundry operations would be. Hotel owner and pepperpot maker Zora Post had taken it upon herself to organize the kitchen, and had commandeered a group of willing women to open the crates and barrels of foodstuffs so they could inventory what the camp had on hand. Seeing such initiative made Grace smile.
Grace, Loreli, and the rest of the roster committee had agreed to convene at the trestle tables and had just begun sharing ideas when the black-clad Jackson Blake walked up.
He touched his hat. “Morning, ladies.”
The smiling ladies returned the greeting.
His eyes moved to Grace and she fought down her reaction. “Miss Atwood, can you spare me a few moments? We need to figure out where we’re going to put Drain’s animals once they’re delivered.”