A Kiss for Cade (37 page)

Their footsteps sounded on the plank floor as they marched toward a bedroom, the scent of gardenias drifting in the air. Pausing before a closed door, she waited with pained tolerance as Gracie opened it. When the door swung wide, she gasped. Heavy green drapes covered the windows. The room was lit with flickering candles, and the bed had more ruffles on the ecru canopy and spread than Zoe had ever seen. Puffy, colorful pillows lay across the bed and around the floor. Two glasses and a bottle of something sat on the bedside table. Pale green silk scarves garlanded the backs of a chair and matching settee. Why…it looked like a sheik’s den of iniquity!

Zoe’s gaze came to rest on the tub in the middle of the room, filled with sudsy water. The familiar scent of Lilith’s gardenia soap rose from the hot water. Her hand shot out to stop Glori-Lee’s when the woman began to unbutton her dress. “What do you think you’re—”

“This won’t hurt a bit,” Glori-Lee said, a big grin splitting her face. “You just get in that tub and soak a spell in Lilith’s perfumy bubbles. Once you’re all pink and pretty, you can slip into this lovely soft nightie.”

Gracie held up a flimsy, pale blue, off-the-shoulder satin gown for Zoe’s inspection. A white ribbon laced through the tatting around the neckline and tied in a bow and then trailed down to the hemline. The gown was beautiful, and under other circumstances Zoe would have been delighted to wear it for Cade.

“Girls, I know you mean well, but I can’t, I won’t—”

“Shush.” Gracie pushed her toward the tub, where Lilith stripped Zoe’s camisole and pantaloons off before helping her into the bath. Then Lilith scooped up a small pail of water and poured it over Zoe’s head.

“You’re drowning me!” she protested, covering her bareness with her arms.

The older woman rubbed a bar of sweet-smelling soap over her hair, working up a mountain of lavish suds, while Glori-Lee lifted one of her legs, then the other, running a washcloth back and forth. Zoe had to admit the attention felt good. She slid deeper into the hot water as Gracie reached for an arm to lather.

“That’s it. Don’t fight it, dear. We have to get you pretty and smelling sweet for your man.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

N
ow, son,” Pop said, “if you hadn’t put up such a fuss, we wouldn’t have had to tie your hands.”

Cade sat in a tub at Walt’s bathhouse, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. “Pop, when I get loose—”

Pop chuckled. “You’ll be too occupied to retaliate.”

“Never saw anyone who hated a bath like you do,” Walt said, adding a kettle of hot water to the tub.

“Owwww! Watch where you’re pouring that!”

“Yeah, take it easy,” Pop said. “You don’t want to scald the groom.”

Sawyer doubled over with laughter. “Wouldn’t want that now, would ya, Cade?”

Cade struggled to climb out of the tub, but Pop pushed him back down with the tip of his crutch. Walt dunked his head under the water. He came up, sputtering.

“The only part of my body I intend to use tonight is my foot, to kick all of you from here to kingdom come!”

“Now, now, calm down,” Walt said. “Cain’t start a marriage without a shivaree. Don’t ’spect you and Zoe have had much time alone with all those young’uns around.”

Lawrence lifted Cade’s foot out of the water and scrubbed it hard with a brush. Cade jerked it back under the suds.

“Ticklish?” Lawrence asked. “Never would have thought it.”

“Don’t do that.”

Lawrence snickered, trying to grab his other foot. Cade snatched it away.

“You are ticklish!”

“I’m not ticklish. I’m just particular about who washes my feet.”

“No time to be bashful.” Pop sat on a keg, propped his splinted leg on a box, and watched the antics. “Think of it as ministry. We wash your feet, you wash ours.”

Cade lifted his bound wrists and slapped them hard on the water, soaking the onlookers.

“Now look what ya did,” Lawrence said, pointing to the front of his drenched trousers. “The wife’ll skin me.”

“Let me out of this tub!”

“Pipe down. They can hear you in the next county.” Lawrence rubbed a towel over Cade’s head. “Okay, Walt, he’s all yours. Get his hair combed up real pretty-like. We want him to look real special for his missus.”

Sawyer held up Cade’s clothes. “I’ll just take these home with me.”

“Don’t you lay a hand on those clothes!” Cade’s demand fell on a closed door. He turned to Pop. “Get me out of here.”

Pop shook his head. “They got their hearts set on a shivaree. Best just ride it out, son.”

Walt finished combing Cade’s hair. “Now comes the tricky part.” He pulled out a straight razor. “I can shave you with you sitting real still, or you can wriggle like you’ve been doing and take your chances.”

Cade froze in place as Walt slid the sharp instrument over the lower part of his face in several swipes until his skin was smooth. The sting of lotion slapped on his cheeks brought him to life. He put his elbows on the sides of the tub and lifted himself up.

Pop stepped back, away from the splash. “Now the missus is gonna be real pleased.”

Cade glared at him. “Winslow, you’re a dead man.”

Laughing, Pop and Walt slapped each other on the backs.

“Get my clothes!”

Pop chuckled again and held up a white cotton garment and matching hat with a tassel. “Oops. Ain’t got nothin’ but this here nightshirt. Guess it’ll have to do.”

“I am not wearing a nightshirt,” Cade warned through clenched teeth. He stepped out of the tub, and Walt began to towel him dry while Cade tried to smack his hands away.

“Suit yourself,” Pop said, tossing the garment aside. “But,” he added, giving Cade the once-over, “can’t say Zoe will be too thrilled when you show up in your birthday suit. She might take offense.”

Walt folded the towel and laid it on the counter. “From the looks of this place, you’d think we gave a polecat a bath. More water on the floor than in the tub.”

“Serves you right. Now get my clothes.”

“Put the nightshirt on, son. You’re not getting your clothes ’til mornin’.” Pop snickered. “Come on, Walt, let’s get this ornery polecat over to Glori-Lee’s.”

Walt looked Cade straight in the eye. “What’ll it be? We untie you so you can put on the nightshirt, or you stay tied and walk naked as a jaybird through town?”

Chapter Forty-Eight

S
crubbed, rinsed, and buffed, Zoe felt like a baby as Gracie and Lilith rubbed her down with a large fluff y towel. When the women finished, Glori-Lee held up the satin nightgown. “It’ll be big on you, but I figure the size won’t matter.”

Zoe reached for her clothes, but they had mysteriously disappeared. She quickly tucked the towel around her closer. “Now that you’ve had your fun, ladies, I have to go home. The children—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gracie held her back. “The fun has only begun.”

Lilith opened her pin watch. “You’d best put on that gown. You should be getting a visitor—” a loud knock sounded on the door, “—about now.”

Gracie reached to open the door, and Zoe quickly jerked the gown out of Glori-Lee’s hands and over her head. She stood frozen in place as Lilith tied her hair back with a blue silk ribbon.

Pop shoved Cade into the room, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. He was wearing a ridiculous nightshirt and a cap with a fuzzy tassel that hung just below his left ear. The nightshirt struck him midway between his ankles and knees. Barefoot and hairy-legged, he looked about as humiliated as she felt.

The sheriff turned his head as the older women filed out. “Sleep tight,” he said, and then he closed the door.

A moment later it opened again, and a pair of boxing gloves sailed into the room. “Little gift from Sawyer. He thought they might come in handy with you two.”

The lock clicked into place.

Zoe’s mind flittered with guilt. Jim, God rest his soul, had been a good and honorable man. He’d given her his love and support, but even Jim had known that Cade was in her heart, and he’d accepted it. Now Jim was gone. She was married to Cade.

“I hope you know how to pick locks,” she murmured.

He stepped to the door and rattled the handle. It refused to budge. “I think Pop is getting senile.”

“I think the entire town is out of its mind.” Exhausted, she climbed under the covers, and lay back. Gracie sure knew how to fashion a comfortable bed. “We’ll just have to make the best of it until morning.”

“No.”

“Does the big, fierce bounty hunter not like the idea that he’s at someone else’s mercy?” Zoe couldn’t help but laugh at the disgruntled expression on his face. “You’re pretty bossy for a man wearing nothing but a silly-looking nightshirt.”

“It’s not funny, Red.”

“Really?” She smothered a yawn. “I think you look quite charming, and those boxing gloves. What an appropriate gift. We’ll have to thank Sawyer.” When his eyes darkened to a challenging hue, she shrank deeper under the covers.

He lifted a sardonic brow. “Want to fight?”

She knew better than to taunt him when he was in this mood. In her most innocuous voice, she answered, “No. Why would you think that?”

He walked over to her and jerked back the covers. Scrambling to the opposite side of the bed, she glared at him, conscious that she’d gone too far. “Don’t you touch me!”

“You’ve had a burr under your saddle since the day I rode into Winterborn. When you came out of the store, you were mad enough to shoot me.” He reached for the boxing gloves and pitched them at her. “Put ’em on, Red. You want a fight. I’ll give you a fight.”

She threw the gloves back. He caught them against his chest and chuckled.

Pulling the covers over her face, she screamed her frustration into the mattress. The man was so infuriating!

No sooner had the scream ended than she felt a rush of cool air. He yanked the covers off again. His hands found her waist, and she felt herself being lifted from the bed.

“Put me down!”

“No. It’s time we settled this.”

Her face flamed beneath his arrogant perusal of her bare shoulders as he set her on her feet. “Stop looking at me. Have you no shame?”