Always and Forever (15 page)

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.”

“Certainly.”

She excused herself and walked with him over to the supply tent that doubled as his office. Once inside, Grace looked around. Like the other supply tents, the place was stacked to the gills. Wagon wheels were piled up next to cooper’s barrels. Harnesses and tack were piled high in a corner, along with shovels and wagon axles. There were buckets and knee-high coils of rope; tarps and hooded rain slickers. They packed the tent so tightly one could barely turn around. She saw that he’d turned the top of one of the larger crates into a makeshift desk. Spread atop it were opened maps and scattered sheets of supply lists.

When she became aware that he was watching her, Grace plunged right into the business at hand. “What were your thoughts on the animals, Mr. Blake?”

“So, we’re back to Mr. Blake now?” he asked evenly.

The memories of last night’s kisses rose in her mind. She buried them so that her plan wouldn’t go awry. “Yes.”

He studied her a moment. “Why?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s necessary.”

“Why?” he asked again, watching her closely.

“Because you and I need to establish a business relationship, and we can’t do that if we’re—”

“Kissing?” he asked, finishing the sentence.

“Exactly,” she replied, avoiding his eyes again.

Jackson smiled to himself. Admittedly she made a lot of sense—loving and business didn’t often mix well—but he was certain she could feel the sparks between them, he certainly did. He wondered if she knew that putting them out would be a lot easier said than done. “I agree, business is more important at the moment, but—” and he paused dramatically.

“But what?”

“There’s a very passionate woman inside you, Miss Atwood. What are you going to do about those sparks we talked about?”

“Ignore them,” she responded confidently.

He chuckled softly.

Grace wondered if she was supposed to be offended. “You don’t think I can?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I was the one you were kissing last night, remember?”

She did, and forced herself to keep her voice light. “Sharing a few kisses with you doesn’t mean I’m in danger of throwing myself at your feet. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” he replied, even as he wondered if her sleep last night had been as fretful as his own. He awak
ened this morning still hard from the remembered scents, tastes, and the feel of her softness pressed against him under the moonlight. “If you want this to be a business partnership, so be it, but it may already be too late.”

“Meaning?”

“The first thing I thought about this morning was kissing you.”

Grace’s whole world swayed. “Jackson, I—”

It pleased him to hear her slip up and husk out his given name. “You said you valued truth, so I see no sense in lying about it. I want you, Grace Atwood, and in every way a man could possibly want a woman.”

Grace wondered if she’d ever breathe again. “We aren’t supposed to be having this discussion.”

“Why not?” he asked easily. “You said it yourself last night. We’re both adults.”

“But you’re just looking for a toss in the hay.”

“You’re wrong. I’m looking to share passion with a beautiful woman.”

His penetrating gaze was so filled with desire, Grace felt as if they were the only two people in the world. The high collar of her blue blouse suddenly seemed tight and restrictive around her throat. The parts of herself that he’d awakened last night were slowly coiling to life and she hadn’t a clue as to what to do. “I’m not that kind of woman,” she confessed, eyes filled with honesty.

It was an honesty he respected. “I know that, but it still doesn’t stop me from wanting to take you in my arms.”

“You’re too forward,” she whispered over her pounding heart.

“I know that too, but the truth remains.”

Grace wanted to know why he was doing this. Where she came from, women didn’t hop into bed with a man just because he desired she do so. There were rules and protocol to be observed first, mainly a wedding. His
realm seemed to be void of such conventional restrictions, though, and the parts of herself that were attuned to him boldly wondered how it might be to walk there, if only for one night. Shocked by her scandalous thoughts, she refocused her attention his way.

“What were you thinking?” he asked. He’d been watching her thoughts pan across the planes of her small face.

“Nothing,” Grace lied. Last night she’d admitted to being susceptible to his kisses, but she would not confess to desiring him.

“Do you ever let your hair down?”

Grace’s hand went unconsciously to her severely pulled back hair, then dropped hastily back to her side. “Not in mixed company.”

“You should try it sometime.”

Grace imagined herself letting her hair down for him and just the thought made her senses quicken and her blood warm. “Let’s get back to the issue at hand. Are we in agreement to stick to business?”

“Yes, we are.” Jackson wasn’t really, but as he’d mused earlier, business first—the rest would take care of itself.

“Then let’s talk about animals.”

“I still want to kiss you, though.”

Grace looked up into his eyes and felt herself going woozy. “Jackson, you have to behave if this agreement is to work.”

He reached out and lightly traced the tip of his dark finger over the small spray of freckles dusting her left cheekbone.

As the moment rippled over her, he said in a voice as soft as his touch, “You have my word that I will not kiss you or touch you again, until I’m asked. How’s that?”

Grace, in the midst of melting, realized he’d used the word “until,” and not “unless,” as if he knew she wouldn’t be able to master her attraction, at least, not for very long. She admitted that he could be correct. He was practiced in this game, she was not. She’d never even been kissed properly until he came into her life, she knew that now. Everything about him seemed to promise this would not be the last time they’d visit this subject, and the knowledge filled her with both a thrilling anticipation and a modicum of distress. Wondering how on earth she’d accomplish being around him for the next few months and remain unmoved, she ducked away from his hand and turned the conversation back to the less volatile subject of animals.

After she and Jackson were done, Grace made her way back to the tables just in time for the end of the roster committee’s meeting. She was handed a draft of the schedule and asked to look it over. Grace promised she would. Fanny and the other women left to rejoin the main group, but Loreli stayed behind.

“May I speak with you privately for a moment?”

Grace had no idea what Loreli was about but replied, “Of course. Let’s use my tent.”

Once they were inside the canvas walls, a curious Grace asked, “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

“I want to give you my fare. You said anyone who doesn’t pick a husband will have to pay her own way, so I want to give it to you now.”

Grace stared, confused.

Loreli offered an explanation. “I’ve been around enough to know that no farmer is going to want a woman like me for a wife, and that suits me fine, because Lord knows I’m not cut from wife cloth.”

“Then why are you going along?”

“To get away. I need a change of scenery.”

Grace looked into her golden brown eyes and wondered how much truth Loreli was really revealing. “Have you been to Kansas City before?”

“Numerous times. It’s not bad, as cities go, but I’m looking to head west. California maybe.”

“Then why not just get on a train and go?”

“I thought this might be more fun.”

Grace smiled.

Loreli then reached into the side pocket of her gray skirt and withdrew a tied-up red handkerchief. She undid the knots and handed Grace ten double eagles. “Will that cover me?”

Grace couldn’t hide her surprise. “It’s more than adequate.”

Loreli’s two hundred dollars would be useful, should they need to purchase additional supplies or should an emergency arise. Grace put the coins in her pocket. “Thank you, Loreli. I’m looking forward to knowing you better.”

“Same here,” Loreli offered genuinely. “So, how’re you and Blake getting along?”

“Fine, I guess.” Grace didn’t know Loreli well enough to confide in her and so kept her thoughts on Jackson to herself.

Loreli must’ve sensed her reluctance because she didn’t press. “Well, if you ever need a shoulder, it’s here.”

Grace nodded. “Thanks.”

Loreli gave her a smile and left through the tent’s open flap.

With Jackson’s blessing, the women had the rest of the day off. After the physical challenges of yesterday, having nothing to do gave them the opportunity to rest their sore muscles, continue fixing up their tents, and
visit with their neighbors. To distinguish the tents from one another, some of the women fashioned address signs from the wood of discarded crates and placed them outside their residences. Others decorated their entrance flaps with ribbon or scraps of colored cloth. One tent even had a flowery hat tacked over the entrance. Grace thought it was a wonderful and creative way to tell one tent from another.

That evening, as Grace sat at her makeshift desk writing a letter to the aunts, she heard Jackson call to her from outside, “Grace, someone here to see you.”

Puzzled, she got up from the crate she’d been using as a seat to see who Jackson had with him.

The young woman standing on one side of Jackson was not someone Grace knew. She did know the man in the cleric’s collar, however, and the sight of him surprised her greatly. He was Reverend David Petrie, the father of Grace’s late friend Nan, and a man who’d not spoken to Grace or any member of her family since Nan’s tragic death thirteen years ago. The Reverend Petrie had pale-as-ivory skin, and at one time had been a very robust man, but over the years the bulk had wasted away, leaving behind a paper-thin husk of the man he had once been. Rumor had it that he was dying.

“Evening, Grace,” he said hesitantly.

“Reverend.”

“This here is Belle Carson.”

Grace nodded a greeting at the subdued young woman clutching a Bible. She was covered from neck to toe by a voluminous black cape that looked frayed and old, but the face above the collar was as dark and beautiful as an angel’s.

“Hello, Miss Atwood,” she said clearly.

Grace smiled at her, then turned her eyes back to Pe
trie. She introduced Jackson. “Reverend, this is Jackson Blake, our wagonmaster.”

The two men nodded a greeting, then Jackson excused himself, leaving Grace and her guests alone.

Grace said, “I’d offer you a seat, but as you can see—”

She gestured around at her cramped, filled-with-crates interior. All supplies that wouldn’t fit into the tent had been put in here with her.

“That’s all right,” Petrie said. “Hopefully, I won’t take up much of your time.”

“How may I help you, Reverend?”

“It’s Belle who needs the help. I’m wondering if she can go on your wagon train?”

She scanned the silent woman at his side and wondered what her connection to the reverend might be. It didn’t matter really, though, because she had all the brides she needed. “The women have already been chosen,” Grace explained as gently as she could. “We don’t need any more brides.”

The girl’s head dropped for a moment, then she looked up at Grace with a plea in her dark eyes. “Please, Miss Atwood, if you could reconsider, I’d be much appreciative.”

Grace could hear the quiet desperation the girl seemed trying to hide. “We had a meeting last week, Belle,” Grace said earnestly. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t know anything about the journey until yesterday.”

Grace studied Petrie again. He met her eyes and then looked away as if he were uncomfortable. Grace decided she needed to get to the bottom of this. “Miss Carson, why don’t you let me speak with the reverend alone for a moment, please?”

The girl nodded and went back outside. When the
silence resettled, Grace met Petrie’s eyes. “What is this all about?”

He spoke frankly. “She’s carrying a child, and the man is a deacon in her father’s church. I—I don’t want what happened to Nan to happen to her.”

Grace studied his face and wondered why a man who’d put his own daughter out into the streets for the same sin would now take up the cross for someone else. “Is she kin?”

He shook his head no, then sighed, “As you’ve probably heard, I’m dying, and I think the Lord sent Belle to me so I could right things before I meet Him.”

The pain in his eyes looked real enough to touch.

When he continued speaking, his voice was thick with emotion. “I didn’t do right by Nannie, and it’s been eating away at me ever since. I’ve prayed for the Lord to take away my guilt and shame, but so far He hasn’t seen fit to do so. I’ve also prayed every night for you, Grace.”

“Why?” she asked softly.

“Because you showed my Nan the love I didn’t possess then. When she confessed her troubles to me, I was angry, proud, and too worried about what my bishop and congregation would think, but you and Elliot only worried about Nan.”

“She was my dearest friend, Reverend. She had no one else.”

“I know, and for years I held onto my anger and hubris to excuse what I’d done, but the Lord didn’t excuse it. Deep in my heart I knew I’d failed, not only as a man of God, but more importantly as a father. However, it was far easier to blame Nan than to admit I’d been wrong.”

He went silent for a moment, as if reviewing old memories. “But I
was
wrong, and I tell her that each and every time I visit her grave.”

He looked to Grace. “Thank you for burying her and for the headstone. You were right to place on it that she was a loving daughter to me and her mother, because she truly was. I only wish now that I’d been more loving in return.”