Lessie_Bride of Utah Page 7
This.
I don’t want to do… this.
He could play dumb, and the Neanderthal in him had to try. “You don’t want me combing your hair?” He caressed a thumb over her full lower lip. “I’ll be gentle.”
He’d show her infinite gentleness, through every moment of their marital consummation, if she’d just give him a chance.
She leaned further back, effectively distancing herself from his touch.
Ouch.
It took focus and self-control, but he eased away from her. He nearly shivered in the early night breeze coming through the raised window sash.
If the lady asked him to stop, he’d stop. Good breeding had impressed that upon him from the earliest of ages. If a lady asked him, then a young boy, to stop raising his voice inside, he stopped. If a lady asked him to stop calling on her, he stopped.
If his lady wife informed him she didn’t want to do this…
Why not?
Worry tiptoed through the gaping hole where his heart— or maybe his manhood— used to be. Had someone hurt her? This feisty, self-possessed, determined woman? This girl who protected her twin and had somehow provided for them both, despite challenges and threats and living hand-to-mouth?
A woman who faced down her brother-in-law, a man twice her weight— likely more than double— and extracted a solemn promise to treat her twin sister with courtesy and protection in her absence?
She’d been magnificent.
Tenderness softened his disappointment and he wanted nothing more than to embrace her, rock her slowly, and assure her no one would ever hurt her again.
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t want his touch, and he didn’t know why.
Pain sliced bone-deep. Moments ago, he’d reveled in the glory of her touch, her kisses, her spontaneous passion for him and the unbelievable spark between two people who still didn’t know one another well but wanted to.
Eventually they would.
That had to be enough, for now.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”
He waited, hoping she’d say more. Tell me why not, Sweetheart. Talk to me.
She remained silent, so he tried a simple question. “Did I do something wrong?”
Maybe his hands had wandered, maybe she thought him fresh. “Something you didn’t like?”
He’d have to take this slowly. And he would… if she ever let him touch her again.
“No.” She looked at him then, directly in the eye, as if all embarrassment had been banished, shoved aside, dealt with.
He loved her strength.
She even smiled, a little. “You’re rather accomplished at kissing, Mr. Cannon.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment. “Don’t know much at all, Mrs. Cannon, but I figure it’s instinct.”
“I see.”
“My instincts are finely honed when it comes to you. You’re my wife.”
Maybe she just needed a little reminding. They had every right to explore their passions. His ring was on her finger. He had a certificate from the church, all recorded with the Territorial government. She was his.
His to protect, to safeguard, to love.
“Indeed I am.” She drew in a deep breath as if to fortify herself.
He braced, sure he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say next. If he learned about some idiot, some man or gang of men in Massachusetts, he’d round up a vigilante posse, he’d…
“It’s all so overwhelming. So new.” Her tremulous smile struck him like a kick to the gut. “Would you mind, very much, if we stopped there? I’d be so much more comfortable if we took this slowly.”
Chapter Nine
“I’d be so much more comfortable if we took this slowly.”
So much for kissing her to distraction. Disappointment tasted bitter, indeed. Far more bitter because she’d told him no, twice.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“….more comfortable if we took this slowly.”
“Just how slowly?” He tried to hide his exasperation. Hands on hips, he faced her, forced his breathing to slow, pretended this— this roadblock— was just another business setback.
Only right now it felt like this was the most important business merger of his career, of his life.
And because she mattered to him, because the beginning of this atypical marriage would set the tone for the coming months and years and decades together, he’d be wise to ensure they began well.
If he’d learned anything by watching his aunt and uncle, marriage was all that two people chose to make it.
Adam had been right in all his talk about choosing love, choosing romance, choosing to fall in love with his mail order bride. Richard, too, could choose the very best of marriages.
“I don’t know.” Her hands tightened on the towel. “A few weeks? A month or two?”
Months?
Not on her life.
“Maybe it would be best if I slept in the guest room, just for a few weeks—”
He had to put a stop to that crazy talk, right now. “We already agreed to begin as we mean to go on. We’re both going to sleep in our own bed. That doesn’t mean I’ll take what you’re not ready to give.”
She bit her bottom lip.
“Sweetheart, I promise you something with all the solemnity of a husband’s promise. I understand you’re hesitant.”
She looked up suddenly, as if surprised by compassion coming from his mouth. She must’ve seen what she needed to see because she relaxed, visibly. As if tension had been soothed from her muscles.
Maybe, if he tried, he could ensure she did feel more at home, more at ease. They both wanted that, didn’t they? “You’re right, my dear. We’re mostly strangers. Man and wife, who need time to become well-acquainted, to learn to trust one another.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
He approached, glad when she didn’t flinch. He took her hands in his, surprised at how dry and rough they’d become since her bath. He drew his thumbs over her knuckles, found them cracked. “You’re not accustomed to Utah’s arid environment, are you?”
She lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “No.”
“I can fix that. I have just the thing.” He opened a cabinet door, looked carefully through the contents and at last found a bottle of Palmer’s lotion.
It took some doing, but he managed to urge her upstairs and into their bedroom. “Have a seat there on the vanity seat, Sweetheart, and let me see to your dry skin. It looks like it hurts.”
He poured a bit of the moisturizer into his palm, rubbed his hands together to warm the concoction, then gestured for her to put her hand in his. After only the slightest of hesitations, she slipped her left hand in his, the one bearing his ring. A plain gold band, devoid of gemstones.
His ring.
He dropped to one knee at her feet and worked the lotion into her hand, taking extra care where her skin had split in the desert’s nearly unbearable dryness.
Something about the simple ministration felt wonderful. Soothing to him as well as to her.
He might need to wait a while, an undetermined length of time before he might fully enjoy marital relations, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t persuade her to find herself ready quite a bit earlier than she might have assumed.
Sudden optimism lifted his spirits. He’d never seen himself as a seducer of women, but the thought of seducing his wife was suddenly irresistible.
This time of night, no one was anywhere near the telegraph key, which suited his purposes just fine. He paused in the deep, dark shadow cast by a faint sliver of waning moon, watching a spell. Just to be sure.
Maybe five minutes passed without hide nor hair of another person noticing him. So he turned the knob and let himself inside.
He knew code well enough, could send a message only those in the know could understand. To anybody who shouldn’t be listening in, it’d sound like a couple of love-sick operators sending poetry down the wire.
He transmitted the brief signal, waiting for a come-back.
Seconds passed, then more like a full minute.
Irritation flashed. What had the fool gone and done? Fallen asleep? Wandered off to water a bush?
He’d try once more, and if the soldier didn’t come back like he was supposed to, somethin’ just might happen to him. He wouldn’t see it comin’, but it’d happen, just the same. Maybe he’d know in his last seconds of life he’d been snuffed, maybe not.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
Hello, sweet pea.
The key clacked in dots and dashes.
Seconds trickled past. Finally, the clatter came back. Missing you.
A rush of jubilation, like the first few minutes after an expensive shot of liquor, warmed his veins and provoked a smile. The correct station identified.
Men like him didn’t usually smile, but with the stars lining up as they were and nobody around to witness him grinning, he allowed it.
Just this once.
Missing you more, he keyed, slipping in the instructions only a rare few would comprehend. The soldier at the other site was one of ‘em. Can’t wait to kiss you by light of the full moon.
‘Course, full actually meant new, and the new moon was on its way, the darkest night of the month. And light had a special meaning all its own.
Now all this little love note needed was a confirmation, a nod from the other end, a commitment to follow orders.
Less than a second passed before the response came a clickety-clacking over the wire. He’d done good, selecting a soldier with Morse Code.
Kiss me goodnight. Once, twice. Maybe thrice.
He leaned back, tipping the rickety chair on two legs and grinned. Confirmation achieved.
Three, two, one. Boom.
An offer he hadn’t expected.
This was gonna be good.
He’d just taken the key to accept the offer when Kiss me at sunrise, plain as day, tripped in.
A tidbit of intelligence he’d not anticipated, at least not yet. He laughed aloud, would’ve given a hoot and a holler if he’d thought no one would hear him. But given the crowded nature of this camp, bodies everywhere, he bit down on the shout of jubilation.
Sunrise.
Well… I’ll be jiggered.
The boss done finally found himself a bride. Took him long enough. The pathetic ad had run in Groom’s Gazette for months.
That bit of good news changed things all around, and definitely for the better.
He chose his response with care. Keeping to the forlorn lovers’ style, he chose the word sure to convey the go-ahead. Dream of me.
After it all panned out, he’d have to remember to reward the soldier good and proper.
Loyal soldiers deserved nothing less.
X X O O. Message received.
Morning dawned clear and bright. Another beautiful autumn day. Early sunlight streamed through the east-facing windows.
And despite the awkward ending to their kisses and becoming acquainted last night, it was an absolute pleasure waking up with Lessie in his bed.
He lay there, quietly, watching her sleep. So relaxed, so peaceful. All he could figure was she must be used to a very small bed— a cot, perhaps— and sharing with her sister. She’d sought his warmth in the middle of the night, and he’d awoken to find her curled against him.
What was a husband to do in a situation like that? He’d gladly wrapped an arm about her middle and snuggled her in close, spooning them together like the matched set he wanted them to be.
What better way to accustom her to his touch?
He needed to get outside and see to the horses. And he would. After a few more stolen moments with his wife. Once she awoke, and found herself this close to him in bed, he could only imagine what she’d say, how she’d respond.
She might push him further away.
Deep in his gut he knew the best way to help her get over her discomfort with the idea of them together would be to touch her at every turn. Gentle caresses, little kisses in parting and in greeting, goodnight kisses. Holding hands. A touch to her arm. His hand at her back. Helping her in and out of the carriage.
More massages with lotion into the dry skin of her hands and feet. She hadn’t allowed him to minister to her feet last night. Too private, too far beyond anything she’d previously experienced.
But tonight…?
Seeing her threadbare, yellowed-with-age shift by morning’s light renewed his determination to see his bride well dressed. She couldn’t own more than two sets of clothing… four, counting Josie’s.
Today, he’d see her properly outfitted. He wanted her comfortable, adequately dressed, and prepared for winter. Frost came early in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains, and she needed woolen stockings, flannel petticoats, plenty of lacy and feminine under things. Several new chemises and day dresses of various fabrics to ensure no matter the weather, she had all she needed.
As his wife, it was his duty to meet her needs, including decent clothing.
If anybody saw her on the street dressed as she was, the shame fell on him and him alone.
Today he’d take her to Z.C.M.I. on Washington Avenue. They wouldn’t leave until she’d selected every item she needed to fill their closet and—
A brisk rap sounded on the front door. He snapped awake from the drifting half-rest he’d fallen into. Sure enough— another knock at the door. Who would call at this time of morning?
Beside him, Lessie slept on, undisturbed.
Hmm. She must be accustomed to noise and disturbances.
He sat up, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of their bed.
He quickly pulled on his robe over the undershirt and drawers he’d left on last night, out of consideration for Lessie.
He headed down the stairs in bare feet, peered through the leaded glass surrounding the front door, and recognized the Deseret Telegraph Office delivery boy.
“Morning, Mr. Cannon.”
“Bart.” Richard nodded in greeting to the familiar courier. He accepted the wire, his heart already twisting. Despite Deseret’s pledge to serve the business community and deliver wires in a timely manner, a courier at this time of morning could not be good news.
Surely the train carrying Adam and his bride—
He almost gasped in relief when he scanned the yellow card and picked up the location: Big Ezra.
Not Adam—whose journey to New Mexico had them well beyond the border of Utah Territory by now.
Needing coin to thank Bart for his trouble, patted his pocket and realized, again, he’d answered the door in the inappropriate dress of a bridegroom kept abed by his new wife. “Come in.” He shut the door behind the kid. “Hold on just a moment. I may need to send an immediate reply.”
“Of course, sir.”
Richard hurried into his office and found a few coins in the desk drawer to tip Bart.
Bart already knew the contents, naturally, but pretended ignorance as Richard read.
Big Ezra tunnel collapse. Forty men trapped. Presumed dead.
Impotent rage surged. He crumpled the yellow card in his fist, prepared to hurl it against the wall. These aren’t just numbers, they’re human beings. Men with names and lives and families who would grieve them.
Two serious tragedies with a high fatality count, at one location, within the week.
“Will you send a reply, Mr. Cannon?” Bart’s footfalls sounded on the hardwood hallway floor as he approached the office. The kid had often come all the way in while waiting for replies or to speak to Richard when Adam answered the door.
“Yes.” He grabbed fountain pen and paper from his desk, scrawled a rapid reply to the mine foreman, asking for details and a full report, informing him of an immediate visit.
He had to go. And quickly.
He tipped Bart and saw him to the door. He turned, visions of the collapsed mine shaft and the men crushed—
&nbs
p; Lessie stood in the hallway, a clean but rumpled dress donned.
Sadness lingered in her expressive eyes. “Another disaster?”
“A tunnel collapsed.”
“How many?”
He considered decreasing the number, sheltering her from the tragic news. But remembering last night and the strides they’d made toward knowing each other, trusting each other, he opted for the truth. “Forty.”
She winced.
Seconds passed as the grandfather clock in the parlor softly chimed the half-hour. Six-thirty.
“Someone,” she said softly, “wants you at the mine site, don’t they?”
His thoughts, exactly.
Fear unlike anything he’d known in a long while skittered along his frazzled nerves. “Yeah.”
“We have no time to waste.” Like the bossy girl he’d met at Union Station, she had it figured out. “We’d better go, don’t you think?”
“No.” The thought of her in that rough mining camp when he couldn’t identify the enemy—
“I’m coming with you. It’s why you brought me here.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“You and I are a team.” Her tone left no room for argument. “I thought we settled that last night.”
“I don’t know who’s causing these ‘accidents’.”
“We’ll figure it out, together.”
He’d find a way to ensure her safety while poking around a bear den with a sharp stick. When his opponent came out swinging, he’d have to ensure he positioned himself between that danger and his wife.
The solution was a poor one, but necessary.
“We’re going to load the wagon with supplies and stop at a department store on the way out of town. You need decent clothing.”
She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off. “No boardwalks where we’re going. You need good boots to protect your feet. Woolen petticoats and a coat. This time of year, it freezes at that altitude at night.”
At least she didn’t argue with him.
He ushered her up the stairs, his hands at her waist. “One important thing you need to understand before we arrive up there, Lessie.”