Harmony (36 page)

She pondered that a moment, then asked, “What about your mother?”

“She died. Worked herself to death.”

“And your father? He's gone, too?”

“He's gone, all right.” Tom couldn't help the sarcastic rumble of laughter in his chest. “He's gone down south. To Meh-he-co.”

“Where?”

“Mexico.” Tom turned his foot at an angle to play with Edwina's toes. “He's got a new family. A new wife. Some kids. I saw them once, years back. No reason to go again.”

“But he's your father.”

“So? He's got his place, I've got mine. Not everyone has to be one big family. I have Shay. He's more a brother to me than my own is.”

“Did you and Mr. Dufresne grow up together?”

“Yep.”

“And when you left, he went with you.”

“That's how it went.”

“Where did you go?”

Tom laughed. “First stop: the Lamar County Jail.”

Edwina turned with such force that soapy water sloshed over the tub's rim. “To jail? What for?”

The way she stared at him, he expected she thought
he'd been arrested for a heinous crime of some sort. The truth of the matter was somewhat embarrassing—though at the time, it'd been more than somewhat. He saw no way to sugar-coat his reply.

“Being in an establishment of ill repute without sufficient funds to cover the tab.”

Her delicate brows lifted. “Oh.”

“Yep—oh.”

After a moment, she said, “Oh.” And with a frown this time. She settled in once more. “Then what?”

“We went north for a spell. I got a job working in a stockyard. I hated it.”

“Smelly, I imagine.”

“That's only the half of it.” In thought, he rubbed a thumb over the stubble on his jaw. “From there we headed into the New Mexico territory. I did some mine work. Good pay. Hot as hell down in the hole. I spent most everything I earned as soon as I got it. Shay, he's better at saving than I am. He always had money in his pocket.”

“What made you decide to go into business?”

“That idea,” he said, “came to me while I was in Seattle. A lot of men came back and forth from Alaska. They were looking for ways to spend their money, and I guess to them, going off into the woods to let off steam was the best way to do it. I made some fair money, but I didn't like weather. It rains nearly every damn day.”

“I like rain.”

“I like it, too, when it's not living on my clothes everywhere I go.”

“And what about Mr. Dufresne?” She rested her cheek against his chest. “Why didn't he come with you when you left?”

There was no reason not to tell the truth. It was in the past now anyway. “He had a girl that he was seeing steady. It didn't work out.”

“I should hope so, for Crescencia's sake. She's quite taken with him.”

“Likewise for him.”

A few moments passed, Tom thinking about the serious steps his friend was taking, talking with him about. The word
marriage
had come up more than once. Shay had found a woman he loved deeply. Tom envied him.

“The water's getting cold,” Edwina whispered. “Do you want to get out?”

“I suppose the bed's warmer.”

“If it's not . . . we could make it warmer. . . .” She lifted her face to his, just as a chime sounded from a clock in the bedroom: 10:30. “Marvel-Anne comes at seven. You'll have to be gone by then.”

“I know.” He kissed her eyelids, then nose. “But we've got eight hours left.”

“Then let's not waste them,” she said against his mouth, kissing him and pressing the side of her breast into his chest.

14

T
he next morning, life resumed as usual for Edwina. A Sunday sun rose to salute their small world nestled in the clutches of Montana's white winter splendor. As was the case every Sunday, those flocking to Harmony General Assembly church walked differently. Their carriage held a greater propriety and stateliness. Greetings were more formal, more subdued; voices were more meticulously polite. Perhaps it was because they were going off to hear Minister Stoll tell them how impious they'd been during the week—even if not a one of them had strayed down the garden path. That was just the way of things.

But one amongst them had departed from convention . . . quite delectably last night. However, to look at Edwina Huntington in her black silk grenadine dress, one could swear she was no different today than she was last Sunday, or the dozens of Sundays before that.

Edwina had sat staidly in her pew, gazing at the backs of bald heads and the old-fashioned bonnets of the old, devout, and deaf who had assembled in the front. It struck her then that she felt no guilt, no remorse. What she did in her house was her business. But the luscious thoughts that came to her in church were quite another
matter, so she had to push Tom Wolcott from her head for an entire hour. After that, she'd been free to think of him as much as she liked—until next Sunday, when she had to give him up for an hour again.

Their paths did cross, very briefly, that midmorning. The congregation had been milling around the churchyard after services, rambunctious children throwing snowballs, when Edwina had been pulled into a conversation about the Ladies Aid Snowflake Ball that was held each New Year's Eve. Tom and Shay had exited the restaurant just as she'd been asked her opinion on Chinese bucket-shaped lanterns versus Japanese ball-shaped lanterns. Mr. Plunkett could get a better price on the Chinese, but Mrs. Treber argued the Japanese came with better paper and were figured.

If Edwina had had an opinion, it had failed her as soon as she saw Tom. She'd wanted to walk over to him and slip her arms around his neck. But obviously, that was out of the question. As a second choice, she'd wanted merely to speak with him and hear his voice. But that wasn't to be. As soon as the men had caught sight of Tom, they had invited him and Mr. Dufresne into their group. Loud guffaws had sounded; there were pats on the backs. She and Tom had exchanged glances across the segregated circles. Then excited male talk about something called a coyote howler had gotten them stirred up, and they had begged off to their wives, saying that they were going to Wolcott's to give it a try.

Edwina had watched them leave, mumbling something about paper lanterns of any kind being acceptable to her. Mr. Dufresne had remained with Crescencia, and the pair had strolled arm in arm down Hackberry Way toward the town square gazebo that had been decorated with pine garlands and big red bows. It was acceptable for them to show affection publicly, for their relationship was leading to respectability—marriage.

Monday, Edwina had thought for sure she'd be able to steal a moment alone with Tom. But he'd been occupied by a flow of customers; she'd been engaged with
the girls and their lessons. She'd stayed in her classroom long after her students had gone home, in the hope she could see Tom before she had to leave. Five o'clock hadn't come soon enough. At last, he closed the store and came into her side of the building through the storeroom closet. She was waiting for him. The window shades were closed; the front door was locked. As soon as they met, she fell into his open arms and they kissed.

After long, breathless minutes when their mouths were together and their hands were exploring, she could hardly think. When he lifted his head, she saw only his eyes and the longing in them. She felt it, too, and wanted more than anything to be with him.

“We can't go to my house again. I just can't risk it. Last Saturday . . . it was chance enough. . . . Tempting fate isn't something I'm good at.”

He nodded. His fingers cupped her face. “I understand. But we can't go to my room. If someone saw you going there . . . you just can't. I won't let you.”

“I know.” She sighed.

“We can be together here. For a while, anyway, without causing suspicion.”

Her heart ached beneath her breast. “I want to. But I can't stay. I promised Mrs. Elward I'd come over and help her set sleeves on a dress she's making for Ruth. I'm late as it is.”

She would have regretfully slipped out of Tom's arms then if he hadn't held her tight and kissed her. The strong hardness of his hungry lips over hers made her blood flow through her like a raging river. His mouth upset her balance and she leaned into him, crushing breasts against his chest. Clinging to him, she left common sense behind. So easily, the situation could get out of control. Then, fearful that it would, she backed away from the kiss, her fingers covering her mouth as if to keep the feel of him there.

“I have to go,” she said in a rush. “Tomorrow. I'll bring another picnic dinner and we can share it.” She added with a soft smile. “And practice your nines tables—I
haven't forgotten. I'll leave the window shades up. Everything will look perfectly legitimate. And it will be. At least we can be together.”

“Sure, Ed.” He put his hand on her cheek. “I can come for dinner.”

But the next evening, he couldn't keep his promise. Something had happened to a shipment of costly hunting skiffs; they'd been damaged in transit, so he'd had to send Mr. Dufresne to Butte to assess the property and file a claim report with the railroad. A meeting at the Brooks House Hotel Mr. Dufresne was to have had with a party of newly arrived hunters from New York had fallen to Tom—at five o'clock. The picnic had to be canceled.

She didn't see him on Wednesday the entire day. He'd had to close the shop and take the men out himself. Thursday, she came to the school early hoping to find him at the store. He wasn't there. Around noon, she heard movements on the other side of the wall. He must have returned. She went through the school day and dismissed her girls by two o'clock. She quickly went out the door and entered Wolcott's Sporting Goods and Excursions. Two customers were present, so she couldn't say what she wanted to say. She had to act very dignified.

“Mr. Wolcott.” She greeted him with an air of unfamiliarity, checking to see if they were being watched. They were. “It's nice to have you back.”

He looked more handsome than ever, his complexion having turned a shade darker from his adventures in the mountains. Tall and exceedingly muscular, he filled out a striped wool shirt well enough to make a woman heady.

“Miss Huntington.” His gaze fell on the two men for a moment, too. Then to her, he said, “It's good to be back.”

She strolled to the counter that he stood behind and looked for a piece of paper on which to write. “Everything was fine while you were gone.” She tried to be inconspicuous when she nudged a stuffed bird aside to
get what appeared to be a scrap piece. “The note on your door yesterday was quite sufficient. Only one person knocked on mine to inquire about your return.”

“I hope I didn't put you out.” Their fingers touched briefly, electrically, as he rolled a pencil in her direction.

“Not at all.” She began to write.

“Glad to hear it.”

Finished, she slipped the note to him.

Meet me in the storeroom at five o'clock.

“Well, I'll leave you to your customers, Mr. Wolcott. Good-bye.”

“ 'Bye, Miss Huntington.” He gave her the briefest of nods. Had she not been looking for a sign, she wouldn't have detected it. Then she left, her heart beating in anticipation.

•  •  •

Tom wrote up the two men's purchases and they departed. Now alone, he put a foot on the bottom rung of his stool and gazed out the windows, pensive. The mood was unlike him. He should have been champing at the bit for five o'clock to come. It wasn't as if he didn't want to see Edwina. He did. In the worst way. But the fact that he had to meet her in a closet bothered him. With other women, the bits of fluff he'd dallied with in the past, he would have taken the meeting in stride, laughed about stripping off clothes amidst inventory. But not with Edwina. She wasn't a floozy. She deserved better than a storeroom.