Clay (23 page)

“I don’t know yet; there are several matters to settle here. I think we’ll be sticking around for a while, but I’ll let you know.”

“You plan on selling your wagon, Clay?” Scotty asked.

“I imagine so. There’s no use for it here in the city.”

“I was looking it over, and it’s still in damn good condition. I’ll take the team and wagon off your hands for five hundred dollars. If you decide to head back East with us, I’ll sell it back to you for what I bought it for.”

“I heard that,” Becky said, joining them. “I paid seven hundred dollars for that wagon and team.”

“Mrs. Fraser, the team and wagon have deteriorated since you bought them.”

“Some would consider the team is better trained now, sir,” Rebecca countered in defense of her beloved mules.

“Five hundred’s my top price. I’ll throw in another hundred dollars for whatever utensils and supplies you want to get rid of.”

“Far as I know, we’ll want to sell everything,” Clay said. “Right, Becky?”

“I haven’t thought about it yet, but I suppose you’re right. I really won’t have much use for most of that here in the city. And you’re never going to get me in a covered wagon again.”

“Well, Clay, that sounds pretty final. Looks like we can do business.”

Becky made a final check of the wagon to make sure there was nothing she wanted to keep, then she signed the bill of sale. Sighing, she put the check into her purse, then walked over to the corral to face one last painful parting.

“Uh-oh, brace yourself, boys,” Clay murmured.

“Not again!” Garth exclaimed. “I haven’t fully recovered from the farewell to the cow and chickens.”

“This will probably be worse—there’s six mules.”

All six trotted over to the fence when they saw Rebecca, which was an amazing sight for a breed that took indifference to a higher plane than even a cat.

“Now, Desdemona, you be kind to Othello. You know he’s got a hankering for you,” she said, hugging and kissing them. “And Mark Antony, I don’t want to hear that you’ve been nipping at Cleopatra just because she’s a little slower than you. Mr. Scott has promised me he’ll take good care of you and see that no one takes a whip to any of you. And Caesar, I told him that sometimes your leg is sore, and he said he’d team you up with Brutus or Cleopatra since they’re slower. I’d take you all with me, if I had a place of my own where you could graze in a field of clover, instead of pulling heavy wagons up and down mountains.”

“Did she always talk to them like this?” Scott asked. Clay nodded. “But they’re just dumb mules.”

“Doesn’t look like that to me,” Garth said. “They seem to understand what she’s saying to them.”

“Becky insists that animals have feelings and like to be told they’re loved, just like humans do,” Clay said.

“Funny thing about it is, they never acted up for her like most mules do. Docile as lambs whenever she spoke to them.”

“Mrs. Fraser, I have to admit there were times I thought you were more trouble than you’re worth,” Scotty said when Rebecca rejoined them. “But all in all, I’m sure going to miss you. You made this trip interesting. I wish you and Clay a long and happy life together.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. And despite the times I found you to be officious and overbearing, I thank you for bringing us through safely. I can’t imagine why you want to do it all over again.”

“I’m a single man, ma’am, with no roots. This life keeps me from being lonely.”

“Perhaps if you’d plant some roots, sir, you wouldn’t have to be a single man. Thus, no loneliness.” Her eyes flashed with the spunk Clay so adored. “Take care of those mules, sir, or I shall haunt you the rest of your life.”

“Yep, Mrs. Fraser, no doubt about it. I’m sure going to miss you.” He tipped his hat. “Well, it was a pleasure to have met you folks, and good luck in the future.” He winked at Clay. “I think you’re going to need it, son.”

“And good luck to you, Scotty,” Clay said as they shook hands.

“My offer’s still open if you change your minds in the next week,” he said, slapping Garth on the shoulder.

“Good man,” Garth said after the wagon master left.

While Clay got her trunk out of the wagon, Garth went off to hail them a cab.

Rebecca took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to get her through the next few minutes. “I guess this is good-bye, Clay.”

He looked at her inscrutably. “I’ll see you safely to your brother’s.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure you and Garth are eager to find your sister. Besides, I thought I’d stay in a hotel tonight, to freshen up before going to find him.”

“Then come with us to see Lissy,” he said. “I’d like you to meet her.”

Rebecca hesitated. Why not? After tomorrow, they might never see each other again. Why not put off the parting as long as she could?

Garth returned with a cab, and after the men loaded the trunk and saddlebags onto the rear of the carriage, they went to the nearest hotel.

Fittingly named “The Prospector,” the hotel appeared to be new and was much fancier than the one in Independence. More important, it offered two attractions that Rebecca hadn’t known for over four months: a solid roof over her head, and an actual bed to sleep in.

Clay registered them as husband and wife, and once upstairs, Rebecca discovered they had a connecting room with Garth, as in Independence. Clay wordlessly settled any doubts she had by putting his saddlebags in Garth’s room.

Rebecca looked forward to the first hot bath she’d had since they left Fort Laramie. After pouring bath salts into the steaming water, she slowly lowered herself into the tub until the water covered her shoulders. Then she leaned back and relaxed as the hot water surrounded her tired body in a warm and fragrant cocoon.

Closing her eyes, she thought of that night in Fort Laramie, when Clay had made love to her and they’d almost consummated their marriage. Inevitably that memory led to the memory of the ecstatic night in that cabin, when they did consummate it.

Though it seemed so long ago, every detail of that night was vivid in her memory. Could she ever put it out of her mind? Did she really ever want to?

When the water began to cool, Rebecca scrubbed her scalp vigorously to make sure she rid it of every speck of sand, then she left the tub and returned to her room. She had just finished dressing when Clay tapped on the door and came in.

“All set?”

“Yes, all but my hat.” She removed her hat from the trunk, adjusted it to a saucy angle, and pinned it on. Then she spun around to find him staring with a bewildered look at her.

She glanced quickly in the mirror, but nothing appeared unusual. “What’s wrong, Clay?”

“You were wearing that hat the first time I saw you,” he said.

“I imagine so, it’s the only hat I own. Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, I was just remembering. Seems a long time ago.” His smile was unconvincing.

“Everything seems a long time ago now, Clay.”

“Yeah. Sure does.”

The Frasers stood in front of a white clapboard house adjacent to the stagecoach office. In answer to their knock, a young red-haired man opened the door. He nodded and offered a friendly smile, and Rebecca liked him on sight.

“Howdy, folks.”

“Are you Stephen Berg?” Clay asked.

“Sure am. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Clay Fraser. This is my wife, Rebecca, and my brother Garth.”

“You’re Lissy’s brothers!” he said, shaking their hands. “I’m Lissy’s husband. She figured you’d show up. Come on in.”

Once inside, he pointed to an armchair. “Please sit, ma’am. That chair’s the most comfortable. Lissy’s tending the baby, but I’ll go get her.”

As soon as he left the room, Rebecca teased, “So which one of you boys is going to shoot him?”

They both were still chuckling when a whirlwind blew into the room.

“Clay! Garth!” The young girl was stunningly beautiful. Her long hair was as black as that of her brothers, and her tiny frame was engulfed by her tall brothers when she flung herself at them. Her brilliant blue eyes flooded with tears as they hugged and kissed, and Rebecca would have sworn she saw tears in Garth’s eyes, too.

When they all finally settled down, and Clay had introduced her to his sister, he said, “Well, where is it? You don’t think we came all this way just to see you.”

Lissy giggled. “Your nephew Theodore just went to sleep.”

“So you had a boy,” Garth said.

“Yes, and do you believe Stephen wanted to name him Ulysses after General Grant!”

Stephen looked sheepish. “That appealed to me more than Beauregard, which Lissy wanted. So I suggested we name him after her father.”

They all laughed, and Garth walked over and slapped him on the shoulder. “You did good, brother-in-law.”

Rebecca saw Lissy’s face light with joy at the remark.

After Theodore awoke and had been introduced to his uncles and aunt, Lissy let Rebecca help with the baby’s bath. Rebecca marveled as she gently cleansed the tiny arms and legs, and the little round cheeks of his rear end. Tiny toes, fingers, arms and legs; each part a perfect miniature. She couldn’t help smiling as the two uncles cooed over their nephew, and she was surprised to see how adept Clay was when he picked Theo up when he began to cry. Clay grinned with pleasure when the baby’s little fingers curled around his large one.

*   *   *

Later, when they decided to leave, Clay went into the bedroom seeking Lissy and Stephen. He stopped at the doorway when he saw them standing at the baby’s crib. Stephen’s arm was around her shoulders as they gazed down at their sleeping child.

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. “I love you, Lissy.”

She leaned her head against his chest and smiled down at the infant. “And I love you, Stephen.”

“And thank you for our beautiful son. You’re our life, Lissy. We both need you, love. You fought so hard to give him life, just as you gave life to me when you became my wife.”

Clay felt guilty eavesdropping on this private moment, but he was too moved by it to leave. The resentment he’d harbored toward Stephen was obliterated by his sense of shame. What made him and Garth think they had the right to try to meddle in that love?

A matter of honor? Whose honor? These two people in love had done the honorable thing. They admitted their love, and were willing to risk the consequences of their actions—not out of some self-imposed sense of duty or honor, but for love.

Clay started to turn away, and discovered Becky was beside him. How much had she heard of the conversation? For a long moment they stared at each other, and then he took her hand and they slipped away quietly.

Garth had romance on his mind, and as soon as they returned to the hotel, he took off. Clay tapped on the connecting door.

“You hungry?” he asked when Rebecca opened it.

“Famished.”

“Then let’s go downstairs to dinner. Unless you’d rather go somewhere else to eat?”

“No, here will be fine.”

Clay’s palm lightly rode her back as they followed the waiter past a satin-draped alcove, where a string quartet was playing the soothing strains of a Mozart sonata. After seating her, the waiter gave them menus and Clay ordered wine.

Rebecca looked around with pleasure. A flickering candle cast a shimmering glow on the delicate crystal glasses. She lightly traced her hand across the luster of the white tablecloth; it felt cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. A whiff of jasmine drifted up from a bowl of yellow and gold flowers, and she dipped her head to it and took a deep breath of the fragrance.

“This is all so wonderful.” She leaned across the table to whisper softly, “Clay, can we afford this?”

“If this is our last dinner together, I would like it to be a special one.”

His words were a jarring reminder of how little time they’d have together. The candle suddenly lost its glow; the music became less sweet.

The return of the waiter gave Rebecca a chance to restore her composure, as he poured the wine and Clay gave him their order.

Then Clay picked up his glass. “This occasion calls for a toast to the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. I shall never forget you, Becky. May you find the happiness you deserve.”

Rebecca’s hand trembled as she reached for her glass. “And to you, Clayton Fraser. You’re the finest man I’ve ever known.” She didn’t know if she could get through the dinner without breaking out in tears. “But good-byes are so painful, Clay. Let’s not say them here, with candlelight and soft music. It would be too poignant to bear.”

She met his beautiful brown-eyed gaze. How would she ever forget him? To change the mood, she added, “Even if you are a Southern secessionist.”

He understood, as she knew he would, and broke into laughter. Lord, he was handsome when he laughed! They clinked their glasses together.

As they ate their meal, both concentrated on other subjects to avoid an awkward silence.

They didn’t speak on the way back to the room. Rebecca unlocked her door, thanked him again for dinner, and entered her room.

There, she changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. She tried to read herself to sleep, but thirty minutes later she hadn’t read beyond the first page.

She’d made a drastic mistake when they arrived in Sacramento. She should have said a final good-bye to Clay at the stockyard. Prolonging the inevitable was just making it harder. Her control on her emotions was slipping, not strengthening. How could she get over loving this man, as long as she remained with him? She had to keep him entirely out of her life. No more meals together. Avoid any further contact, even the sight of him, the sound of his voice.

The way he’d talked at dinner, it was evident that he had no qualms about parting. He clearly couldn’t wait to get back to Virginia.

Face it now, Rebecca. Once and for all.

First thing in the morning she would locate her brother, and then hire a lawyer to dissolve the marriage.

Just as she rolled over to blow out the lamp, a light tap sounded on the connecting door.

“Becky, are you awake?”

Rebecca bit her lip. She’d be much wiser to pretend she was sleeping, but what if it was something important?

“What is it, Clay?”

“May I come in? I have something that belongs to you.”

Rebecca got up, pulled on her dressing gown, and unlocked the door. “What is it?”

He stepped into the room and closed the door. He was barefoot and bare-chested, and his hair glistened with moisture from the bath he had just taken. A faint scent of bay soap carried to her nostrils when he handed her Charley’s ring, which she’d lost when Eagle Claw had taken her. “I thought you might want this. I found it the day—”

“I know.”

“I forgot I had it. It must have been mixed up with some of my clothes and ended up on the bottom of my saddlebags.”

“Thank you, Clay.” Grateful for the thoughtful gesture, she rose up on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek just as he turned his head. Her lips brushed his.

Startled, they stared at each other. Then the warmth of his palm curled around the nape of her neck, as he drew her gently into his arms. Her breath quickened, and the flutter of her heart became a hammering in her ears.

Clay lowered his head, covering her mouth with the warm, moist pressure of his own.

His lips were firm and searching. The kiss, demanding. When he held her tighter, she curled into the curve of his muscled strength, her body tingling from the contact.

Breathlessness forced their lips apart, but her passion soared from the tantalizing slide of his lips along her neck before he reclaimed her lips, where his tongue explored the heated chamber of her mouth.

Her emotions whirled. This would only make their parting more difficult to bear; but how could anything that felt so wonderful be wrong? Why not make the most of whatever time remained?

She surrendered to the swirling passion of the kiss.

With a ragged gasp, Clay broke the kiss. Burying his hands in her hair, he cupped her head and forced her gaze to his. His warm brown eyes looked deeply into hers.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Becky? It’s not too late to stop,”

“If this is to be our last night together, let it be our final memory, too.”

His smile was as tender as the kiss he pressed to her lips. Then he slipped her dressing gown off her shoulders. Her loving gaze never strayed from his beloved face as she memorized every feature, while he undid the buttons of her nightdress. Then he pulled it over her head and cast it aside.

She felt neither shame nor modesty as she stood naked under his sweeping perusal. Rather, she gloried in the knowledge that her female sensuality could match the cravings of his male passion. He had taught her that lesson.

He released his pants and stepped out of them, naked beneath them. She studied him boldly, memorizing the beauty of his long, muscular body.

Then she reached out and lovingly followed the width of his shoulders and breadth of his chest with her fingertips. Lowering her head, she placed a light kiss in the midst of the dark hair, the quickening of her breath matching his.

“Becky. Becky,” he moaned. He whispered her name against her lips, and then lifted her into his arms.

Easing her gently down on the bed, he covered her with his own body, the warmth of her flesh as tantalizing as the hardness of his body. His tongue caressed her taut nipples and the silken skin of her stomach. She matched his passion with her own uninhibited exploration.

Their lovemaking was tender as they explored, aroused, and satisfied each other. Giving, taking, sharing in an unspoken expression of love that neither would admit aloud.

She fell asleep with his name on her lips. He slipped into slumber holding her in his arms.

Clay awoke to find Becky curled up beside him. After last night he knew he was in much deeper than he’d originally planned—but he guessed Becky was in the same situation, which could work in his favor. There were several obstacles to overcome, though, and he had to keep a clear head and work it out so he could convince her.

He eased himself out of bed, and then, grabbing his Levi’s, he opened the connecting door and closed it carefully behind him. He was surprised to see Garth sitting at the table with pen and paper.

Garth looked up and gave Clay’s nakedness a once over. “Well, Brother Clay, you’ve either lost your drawers in a poker game, or you were in bed with your wife.”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Clay said. “You’ll wake Becky.” He found a pair of drawers in his saddlebags, then dressed.

“Took you long enough,” Garth said. “For a while, I figured you’d never make it. So what are you going to do about it? Kind of blows the plan for an annulment, doesn’t it?”

“That plan went up in smoke the night Becky and I stayed in that cabin.”

“Took you that long, huh?”

Clay glared at him. “Garth, get off the subject, or I’m going to start busting up this furniture with you.”

“Easy, Clay, I’m only kidding. What’s chewing at your craw?”

Clay dropped down on the bed and stretched out with his hands under his head. “Sorry. I’ve got myself pinned into a corner and can’t get out.”

“You mean with Becky?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to figure out what to do about it.”

“You really want to get out of this marriage?”

“That’s what she wants.”

“I can’t believe that. Becky strikes me as a woman who wouldn’t go to bed with a man if she didn’t love him. How do you feel about her?”

Clay stood up and began to pace the floor. “Confused. I’d like to give this marriage a chance, but it seems like she can’t wait to get it over with. And even if I tried to convince her to try it out, I know she’d never go back to Virginia with me. She hates Southerners, remember?”

Garth grinned. “I think the journey here got that out of her blood.”

“But, it’s a double-edged sword, Garth. She’d be miserable living in the South; there’d be people there who wouldn’t accept her just because she’s a Yankee.”

“Both of you are damn fools if you let other people live your lives for you. Forget Virginia and build a life here. This is as good a time as any, Clay, to tell you I’ve made up my mind that I’m not going back yet.”

“You aren’t really going to go chasing after that pot of gold, are you?”

Garth held up the sheet of paper he’d been working on. “I’ve been thinking about that gold mine my whole life, Clay. Even drew up this map from memory. And I’ll never have a better time than this. I figured you’d join me, but since you and Becky might stay married, I’ll do it on my own.”

“When do you plan on going back home?”

“I figure that in a few years they’ll have a railroad running across this country from shore to shore. By then, maybe I’ll be ready to go back and settle down.”

“Part of Fraser Keep belongs to you, Garth.”

He shook his head. “Fraser Keep belongs to Will— he’s worked his ass off to keep that place going. I love our home, but I’ve got to find something that’s mine alone. Something that I created with my sweat and blood.”