Cinnamon and Roses (10 page)

When Caleb reached the last building on Leavenworth's main street, he turned to slowly make his way back to the livery, kicking a small stone ahead of him.

He'd even thought about asking Rebecca to be his mistress. He could ensure her financial security for a time and lavish her with fancy gifts from cities like
New York
and St. Louis. But if her parting words were any indication, she wouldn't be impressed by his offer.

He'd only meant to reimburse her for Sabrina's order, but he supposed immediately after sex was not the best time to be paying his debts. Giving it some thought, Caleb could see how Rebecca might think she was being paid for the sex itself. But even after her refusal to accept the money, he'd felt it necessary to pay for Sabrina's dress, since Rebecca had really had no way of knowing he'd put an end to his personal arrangement with Miss Leslie.

Caleb knew that ordering another gown at his expense was Sabrina's way of hitting back at him. At least she'd gotten the idea of revenge out of her system and then left town; he'd seen her board the stage less than a week after he'd told her to return to
New York
.

About to rejoin the festivities, Caleb raised his head and stuck a finger into his collar to loosen his tight tie.

He saw her immediately, coming from the house with a basket over her arm. A thick, braided chignon began at the back of her head and swept down to the nape of her neck, where the ribbons of a creamy lace bow fluttered in the evening breeze.

She looked even more beautiful than Caleb remembered.
Her dress must be new,
he thought, taking in the delicate trimmings that matched the lace in her hair. The deep wine color and diamond-cut bodice of the gown accentuated the light skin tone from her narrow throat to the generous swell of her breasts. He tried to convince his body not to react to the splendorous sight, but
a heaviness
grew in Caleb's loins, and his heart began to pound against his ribs.

He stopped a distance from the livery so she would be forced to pass him. He knew the moment she spotted him standing in her path, for her shoulders rose and her lips thinned. He took a step forward, striving for an arrogant demeanor to hide the way his blood raced through his veins.

"Finally decided to join the rest of the
town,
did you?” he asked, hooking a thumb in the pocket of his trousers. “The party started an hour ago."

Rebecca's chin
rose
a notch, and she pulled the basket closer in front of her. “Not that it's any concern of yours, Mr. Adams, but I was waiting to take pies out of the oven. I doubt anyone would appreciate my early arrival once they bit into an undercooked apple."

"Dad told me they always put you in charge of pies.
Must be pretty damn good."

"You'll just have to taste for yourself, now won't you, Mr. Adams?"

She moved to pass him, but he put an arm out to stop her. He stood close enough for the scent of sweet brown sugar and cinnamon to swirl into his nostrils. Caleb wondered if anyone else would realize the spicy fragrance came from Rebecca and not the pastries.

"Don't you think we're past the formalities, Rebecca? After all, we do know one another ... intimately."

Her face flushed, and she tried once again to get away. But Caleb grabbed her arm, trapping the wicker basket of warm pies between them.

"I must say I enjoyed myself immensely that night,” he goaded her, impatient for some response to him. “Think we can do it again sometime?"

Caleb caught her hand in mid-air when she tried to slap him, gripping it tightly until her breath stilled. She bit her lip but uttered no sound.

Her reserve unaccountably maddened him, when he could feel so aroused simply by her presence. “What's the matter? Didn't I send enough money with Megan?” he taunted. He pushed still harder. “I haven't had a country whore for so
long,
I'm not sure what the going rate is.
Especially for one who makes house calls."

Rebecca's eyes shot sparks. And, without warning, her knee came up, striking Caleb between the legs. The basket banged against his diaphragm. His hold on her
loosened,
and he doubled over, moaning.

He watched through half-closed, pain-filled eyes as a smile finally curved her lips.

"Have a nice evening, Mr. Adams,” Rebecca said above his ear.

As she walked away, Caleb could have sworn he heard her laughing.

"Have you seen Caleb?"

Slicing and serving apple pie, Rebecca looked up into Megan's worried countenance. “I thought he'd be here with you,” Rebecca evaded.

"He was. But
Anabelle
Archer attacked him, and he went out for a breath of air. That was hours ago. I haven't seen him since, and I'm beginning to worry."

"She attacked him?” Rebecca laughed. “That must have been fun to watch."

"It was, actually,” Megan said with a chuckle. “But he should have returned by now."

"Don't fret, Megan. Caleb can take care of himself. I'm sure he'll show up any minute now."

Unless he's in the icehouse cooling off,
Rebecca thought, turning so Megan wouldn't see her grin. She felt only the tiniest shred of guilt for kneeing Caleb. He deserved it.
Not only for trying to physically detain her, but for his wretched, deplorable comments.

Her gleeful smile froze in place and her hackles rose as someone's hot breath dusted the back of her neck. She turned to find her eyes level with a broad male chest. Rebecca took a deep breath and struggled to raise her gaze, fear creeping along her spine like nails scraping a blackboard.

Caleb Adams towered over her, his gaze cold. “I'd like to speak with you, Miss Rebecca."

His words might have sounded polite and cultured to the people around them, but they didn't fool Rebecca. He was furious.

"I can't right now, sir,” Rebecca choked out. “I'm quite busy serving dessert."

His fingers closed around her upper arm, making her wince.
“Now."

As Caleb prodded her to walk in front of him through the crowd, Rebecca smiled and nodded to curious onlookers. She wanted to scream for help—or at least warn Marshal Thompson that a murder was about to be committed—but she couldn't seem to find her voice.

He steered her out of the barn and into the dark, deserted night.

"Please, Mr. Adams—"

"Shut up. And it's Caleb."

"Caleb, I'm sorry, truly I am. It's just that you frightened me and—"

"Shut up."

The pressure on her arm increased, and Rebecca thought it best to do as he said. They moved down the empty street, and she closed her eyes, praying for Caleb to regain his sanity. When she stumbled up a set of wide steps and glanced around, she found herself being dragged into her own cabin.

Oh, the nerve! He's going to kill me in my own home.

Anger bubbled in her gut, and she balked, straining to get away from Caleb's fierce hold. “Let go of me, you bastard. I won't be treated like this. Do you hear me?”
If he murdered her, she damn well intended to die fighting.

Caleb swung her in front of him, through the front door, and deposited her on a kitchen chair. “Sit there,” he said menacingly, “and don't move one muscle. Do you hear me?” When she didn't answer, he leaned so close that their noses nearly touched. “Do you hear me?” he repeated.

She crossed her arms over her chest and slumped down on the seat. “Yes,” she answered, grinding her teeth in frustration.

Caleb walked away to light an oil lamp. Then he began pacing the length of the parlor. “I didn't give much thought to the time you stormed into the Express office and upbraided me over Sabrina's first bill. Nor did your mistaken identification of my sister as some fornicating trollop bother me overly much. I even found myself moderately amused by the flush of your skin and the sparkle of your eyes when you held me hostage in a bathtub and ordered me to pay my debts.” He paused to glare at her. “But I draw the line,” he continued, “at being nearly emasculated by some willful, stubborn female."

"
Willful?
” Rebecca jumped to her feet. “I hardly call the act of protecting myself
willful.
"

"Protecting
yourself
from
what?
"

They stood toe-to-toe now, yelling.

"
You!
"

"I wasn't going to hurt you, and you damn well knew it!"

"How did I know?
By your
friendly
words?
Or the grip you had on my arm? I feared for my life,” she announced dramatically.

Caleb remained silent for several seconds, as if thinking of a retort. “Damn,” he said, running a hand through his hair and glancing around the room. He went to the rocker and dropped into it, propping his elbows on his knees. “Did I really scare you?” he asked quietly.

Rebecca rested a hip on the edge of the kitchen table. “I was more mad than frightened, I think,” she admitted. “You called me a whore."

She had agonized over the possibility for two long weeks before coming to the conclusion that one small misfortune did not a whore make. Caleb's callous, hurtful comment had brought to the surface again all the fears she thought she'd buried.

Caleb raised his head and stared at her for a long moment. “That was cruel. I apologize. I didn't mean it.
Truly."

He sounded sincere, but the last thing Rebecca wanted to do was trust a man, especially one who seemed able to lead her to temptation so easily. “Then why did you say it?” she challenged.

Caleb stood and walked toward her. “Hell, I don't know why.
Because I was angry."

He stopped before her and lowered his voice.
“Because I wanted to get back at you for leaving so quickly after we made love.
For ignoring me ever since.
For seeming to forget me so easily."

He wound a loose tendril of her hair around his finger.
“Because I wanted to make love to you again."

He bent and teased her upper lip with his tongue.
“Because even now, I want you."

Rebecca's lungs felt on fire from the breath she held. Caleb's feather-light touch danced over her face and neck, melting her resolve like warm butter.

"We can't,” she said, pushing halfheartedly at his broad shoulders.

"Yes. We can.” Caleb made quick work of the hidden hooks at the front of her gown.

"We shouldn't. It's not right.” Her head fell back, and she moaned as the rough pads of his fingers brushed the tender tips of her breasts.

"You want this as much as I do. Feel it, Rebecca.” He flicked one nipple with his thumb, sending a lightning-sharp bolt of pleasure down to curl her toes. “Let your passions guide you."

A thread of reason tugged at Rebecca's brain, but she pushed it aside and followed the dictates of her tingling flesh. She sank to her knees on the floor with Caleb, uncaring of the fate of the brand-new dress she'd spent so long making. It seemed to disappear magically, as did her shoes, stockings, and other
underthings
. How Caleb undressed, she had no notion, for his hands never halted in their intimate caress of her body.

"Aren't you sore? After I..."

"Never too sore for this,” he answered in a husky voice, tugging at her nipple with his lips. “Not with you."

Caleb lay back on the rough plank floor and urged Rebecca to straddle him. With a leg on either side, she placed her palms on his chest and leaned forward to kiss him, taking his tongue into her mouth and gently sucking on it as he had her breast. He groaned, and she lifted her head, thinking she'd done something wrong.

"No, don't stop.” He wrapped his hands around the thick braid of her hair, tugging her face back to his.

As their mouths plundered, Caleb's hands roamed down her sides, kneading their way to her waist. She felt his shaft pulsing at the opening of her throbbing chasm. With unbearable slowness, he rotated her hips, entering her slightly.

She moaned and tried to press closer. Caleb teased her for long moments, keeping her from what she wanted most before loosening his hold and allowing her to sheath him completely.

A raw moan escaped them both. She held herself still, savoring the feel of Caleb, hard and alive inside her. Soon the need to have more of him overtook her, and instinctively she began to move. Slowly at first, uncertain of what she was doing, and then faster, as his strong hands aided her progress. Her cry echoed through the room as she stiffened and then sank onto Caleb's chest with a contented sigh.

Rebecca didn't know how long she lay there before awareness descended upon her, filtering back in degrees. The sensation of floating fled, and she once again knew the weight of her own limbs. She felt a tender touch on her lower back as Caleb's fingers lightly caressed the ridges of her vertebrae.

He kissed her hair then, and she felt his smile. When Rebecca lifted her head, she saw the face of a very satisfied man.

She rested her cheek on his chest, her lips tickled by the tiny hairs when she spoke. “What are you grinning about?” The words sounded rough as she forced them past her dry throat.

"I was just thinking. Do you suppose the whole town will know what we're up to?"

That woke her. She sat up, trying to ignore the fact that Caleb was still inside her and becoming newly aroused. “How would they?"

His palms stroked her torso, sliding up to cup her breasts. “Oh, I don't know,” he said. “Perhaps because they all saw us leave the dance together. Or because we still haven't returned.” He stared at her for a minute, his thumbs brushing her nipples. “But I think your tangled hair and rosy cheeks will be what gives us away."

Rebecca's hands flew to her braid, and she tried to shove the errant strands back into their neat arrangement.

Caleb took hold of her wrists and brought them to his lips, feathering a light kiss on each. “Don't bother,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and rolling her onto her back. His lips caressed the creamy silkiness of her neck as a tortured moan worked its way up from his throat. “I'll only muss it up again."

Rebecca stood in front of the small rectangular mirror in her bedroom, checking her freshly braided hair for loose tendrils.

"Perfect,” Caleb said, coming up behind her and placing a warm, open kiss on the side of her neck. “You look nearly the same as when you left.” He winked.
“Just a bit rosier."

"What are we going to say if someone asks where we were?” she asked, brushing away Caleb's straying hands.

"We'll tell them we took a walk."

She cocked her head and gave him a doubtful glance. “Do you really think anybody will believe that?"

"No, but I doubt the good people of Leavenworth are crass enough to accuse us of lying."

He had a point. While the Wednesday Group would probably discuss the incident at great length and come to
their own
conclusions, not one would dare corner Rebecca to ask for the truth.

"What about your sister?"

"She won't find out. Even if she did, Megan would never tell a soul."

"I hope you're right."

She smoothed the front of her dress as she walked to the parlor. Caleb followed behind so closely that when she turned suddenly, they bumped into each other.

Rebecca gazed up into Caleb's bright eyes. They reminded her of a polished stone she had once seen as a little girl in the handle of a cane; amber, she believed it was called.
Glowing, sparkling when the light hit it just so.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, the thought of something from her childhood didn't frighten her. Her heart didn't pound, and her fingers didn't turn numb.

Though she lowered her head to hide the gesture from Caleb, Rebecca smiled.

When she looked up, her armor was back in place, protecting her from
all the
world. “You mustn't breathe a word of what happened here tonight,” she said, turning for the front door.

"I promise,” Caleb answered. “But is it all right if I go over to the Dog Tick and tell them about that night at the hotel?” he teased.

"No!” Rebecca swung around, her eyes wide. The very thought mortified her. “You must never,
ever
let anyone know what happened between us."

A devilish grin lifted Caleb's mouth. “I love it when you're worked up. Your nose crinkles, and your breasts do the cutest little dance.” He demonstrated with his hands in front of him.

Rebecca blushed, and he laughed. “Stop it,” she said, halfheartedly brushing him away. “We have to get back to the dance."

Caleb touched her elbow. “I want to ask you something before we walk back into that crowded barn and have to pretend we're mere acquaintances."

She caught the serious edge to his voice, held her breath, and waited.

"I want you to let me take care of you, Rebecca. I'll see that you never want for anything."

She clenched her teeth. “What are you saying, Caleb?"

"You'll have the prettiest gowns and as many fancy baubles as you like. You'll never have to sew another stitch unless you want to."

Her mouth fell open. “You're asking me to be your mistress,” she accused him.

"We belong together, Rebecca,” he said.

She didn't answer, was too busy chastising herself. She should have known what was coming. Sabrina had gone back to
New York
, and now Caleb needed someone to take her place. Who would make a better candidate than the woman who had so eagerly spread her legs for him? Not once, not twice, but three times.

"No,” she said quietly, hoping the short answer would be enough.

"Rebecca, I could make your life so much more comfortable. You wouldn't have to sew dresses just to keep food on the table."

Surprising herself, Rebecca didn't get angry. She spoke calmly as she made her way out onto the porch. The cool evening air smelled fresh and clean, clearing her lungs as well as her mind. “The answer is no, Caleb. I've made enough mistakes in the past two weeks. I'm not going to make another."

Caleb's jaw tightened, his shoulders straightening with indignation. “It doesn't have to be a mistake. We're good together, Rebecca. You can't deny that."

She knew better than to tell him he was wrong. He could easily prove his point just by touching her. “I'm not denying anything. I'm simply saying that what happened was wrong, and it won't happen again."

Caleb loomed over her, his features taut with frustration. “If I kissed you now, we'd end up making love again, and you know it. Right here on this porch."

"But you won't kiss me.
Because I'm asking you not to.”
She stepped from the house and started across the street. “I'm also asking you to make sure nothing happens in the future. I'll do my best to avoid you. Megan can come for fittings alone. You don't have to accompany her."

"So this is the way it's going to be?” Caleb walked beside her with long, angry strides. “You think you can just forget what's passed between us?"

She closed her eyes and bit the inside of her lip, trying to pretend his words didn't cut her to the quick.

"Well, let me tell you something. One of these days, you'll come to your senses. You'll lie awake at night, wishing you hadn't turned down my offer. I guarantee it."

Rebecca stopped dead in her tracks and watched as he stormed ahead. She stood there, in the middle of the dusty, deserted town, as the minutes ticked by.
Until she could handle the curious stares of the townspeople.
Until she didn't want to burst into tears at the thought of Caleb's dark, furious eyes.

Rebecca walked into the doctor's office, clutching her stomach and leaning against the wall for support. She had barely made it across town without fainting.

"Why, dear, you look terrible. Come in and sit down.” Doc Meade took her arm and led her through a curtained doorway to the examining room.

"I'm dying, Dr. Meade."

The elderly man had the audacity to chuckle.

"It's true. I'm dying,” she said, clutching at his arm.

The doctor helped her lie down on a waist-high table. The little hair he'd managed to keep was gray, shooting out in every direction. His white shirt bunched and wrinkled beneath his black suspenders. “Tell me what the trouble is, dear, and I'll try to help. You're much too young to die, I'm sure."

Rebecca shook a sweaty brow, sure of her diagnosis. “I've been ill for a week. Every morning I wake up sicker than the last. I can't keep anything down, and the slightest movement makes me light-headed."

"Calm yourself, my dear. We'll find out what's bothering you."

"I told you, you old coot,” was Rebecca's surly reply. “I'm dying."

He laughed at that, too, while he poked and prodded and added to Rebecca's misery by asking the most embarrassing personal questions imaginable.

"You can sit up now,” he said, holding out a hand to help her. “You're not dying, that's for sure."

Rebecca noticed that the man's wide smile had faded. “What is it?” she asked, bracing herself for the worst.

Still, she wasn't prepared for the impact when he told her. “That can't be. You must be mistaken.” All her earlier symptoms seemed to vanish, replaced by the shock of his words.

"I've seen a lot of women carrying babies in my time, Miss Rebecca. Helped a few deliver, too. There's no mistake. You're expecting."

"But ... but..."

"Now, I'm not one to tell you how to live your life, so I won't mention the fact that you're unattached. And I won't go
tellin
’ anybody, so your secret's safe with me. But I do suggest you think of something quick, ‘cause near as I can figure, you're
more'n
a month along. ‘Course, you'd probably know that better than I would."

Rebecca sat in stunned silence, picking up bits and pieces of the doctor's speech.
A child.
She was going to have a baby. Her mind spun with the realization.

This couldn't be. She couldn't care for a baby when she barely had enough money to provide for herself. And who would come to her for dresses now? Not even the Wednesday Group would be able to overlook the sin of having a bastard child.

"The sickness in the morning ought to pass by the third month,” the doctor was saying. “Try a little tea and crackers to settle your stomach."

Tears filled Rebecca's eyes as she hopped down from the table. “Thank you,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her skirt for money. “How much do I owe you?"

"Now, you keep your money, dear.” Doc Meade patted her hand in a fatherly fashion. “You'll
be needing
it for that little one."

She nodded and made her way out of the office. Tears coursed over her face as she ran, her steps echoing behind her on the wooden planks of the boardwalk. When she reached the house, she threw herself onto the sofa and sobbed. Her head whirled as she started thinking of ways to get out of this hopeless situation.

The first thing that popped into her head was the old woman who had come around the Scarlet Garter now and again for problems such as this. She had a potion she gave to the girls that sometimes ended unwanted pregnancies. Rebecca could surely find someone in town knowledgeable about such measures.