Indigo Sky (20 page)

Chapter 27

Rork gathered her in his arms. “My darling . . . I want you in my life, want you to be my wife.”

She bit her lip.

Sighing, he lay on his side, head propped up on his hand.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Will it be so onerous to marry me?”

“Hank is barely cold in the ground, and I’m sleeping with another man.”

“That’s ridiculous, Leila. He treated you like dirt, and you were filing for divorce.”

She reached for her chemise and held it against herself. “I know, but somehow this is wrong.”

He spread his hands. “What is wrong with us making love?” He reached for her, but she evaded him. “Damn it, the man didn’t honor his vows or even consummate the marriage.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What is it about dead people? Suddenly they were wonderful and flawless.”

“I didn’t say that, but a brilliant mind died because I wanted my freedom.” Bitterness bled from her words.

Rork threw his hands up. “Great, why don’t you just shoulder all the blame for his dissipated, substance-induced life?” He rose and donned his clothes. “I want to marry you, Leila. I love you, but I will not share you with a man whose ghost isn’t worthy of you.” He shoved his shirt into his trousers and glared at her. “When you’re done grieving for a complete prick, let me know.”

He pulled on his boots and draped his jacket over his shoulder. “I’m going into town to make arrangements for my trip.” He turned at the door, and his heart tripped.

She sat cross-legged on the bed. A tangle of wavy locks fell about her shoulders and reached to her waist. There was emptiness in her eyes as she stared at him, and her cheeks were still flushed from their lovemaking. He wanted to run back to her, gather her in his arms, and tell her to take as long as she needed. His mouth, and his resolve, however, strengthened.
No. A damn ghost will not control me
. He ripped the door open and strode out.

Leila gathered her hair, pulled it over her shoulder and twisted it, and stared at Rork’s departing back. The door closed with a sharp click of finality. “Please don’t go,” she whispered. “What now?”

She hugged herself, reliving his hands and mouth on her body. The fire of desire coursed through her. “I want him again.” Heat crept into her cheeks. She touched her fingers to her lips for a moment, as though she was measuring her thoughts.
I am not disappointed that we made love
. She closed her eyes to capture the image of her new self. She slid off the bed and drew the draperies aside
.

A full moon lit the garden below. Icicles sparkled and danced on the trees. Rork’s tall form crossed the icy terrain.

Leila’s stomach churned, and heat surged through her again. Her head sagged. “I’m sorry our marriage didn’t work out, Hank. I’m sorry you died.” She ground her teeth and slammed her fist down on the windowsill.
Why do I feel so guilty? Rork is right. I am being silly, yet I can’t stop thinking I caused his death
.

She threw her head back and groaned, pressing her fingers against her temples.
I knew Hank was unstable
. She tussled with unresolved emotions.
Why didn’t I choose a better moment to tell him I wanted the divorce papers signed
?

She glanced at an ornate rosewood clock on the mantel. The next hurdle—dinner with Rork. Alex offered Leila his maid to help her bathe and dress.

“Thank you,” Leila murmured when her toilet was completed. The maid nodded and left. Leila stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror.
I look the same, but I feel so different
. She splashed perfume on her neck and wrists and smoothed the pale green dress with overlays of cream lace. The off-the-shoulder décolletage revealed her cleavage in a froth of lace. Her thoughts caressed Rork, raising goosebumps on her skin. Spinning, she walked out.
I will not let him dominate my thoughts
. The hem of her skirt whispered against the wooden floor as she walked into the drawing room, head held high.

Rork stood with his back to the fire, legs wide and hands behind his back. His eyes held her captive, and his wide mouth tightened into a hard line.

Alex smiled. “Ah, here you are, honey.” He poured sherry into a crystal glass and handed it to her. “Cook said the meal is delayed.”

“I’m not that hungry,” she murmured, trying to escape Rork’s intense eyes. Her hand shook, and her sherry spilled onto a Persian carpet. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Alex waved the apology away. “You seem out of sorts, honey.”

“I-I don’t feel very well.”

“Shall I send for a physician?”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “No, I’m just a little indisposed.”

“Perhaps fresh air will help.”

“Yes, good idea.”

He offered her his arm. “Allow me.”

Rork stepped forward. “I’ll escort her,” he said gruffly.

The last thing she needed was to be alone with Rork. Protest hovered on her lips, but he took her arm firmly and whisked her through French doors leading onto the patio. Her heart drummed against her ribcage. She drew a sharp breath as the cold air hit her.

Rork took off his jacket, draped it around her shoulders, and led her down the patio steps into the garden.

“I do not think this was a good idea after all,” she said, trying to withdraw her hand.

“Why not? Because Hank’s ghost won’t approve? It was an excellent idea coming out here. We have unresolved issues to deal with.”

Anger came to her aid. “I did tell you that I might have regrets. Perhaps you didn’t understand. We made love, it was wonderful, but— . . . my mistake.”

Rork turned. Putting his hands on either side of her head, he squeezed gently. “Get the guilt out of your head, Leila. I think you need to know something.”

She glared at him, lips thinned. “I need?”

“When you joined us on the train for our trip west, Hank asked me to distract you, flirt with you, so he could carry on with Sissy, unhindered by your presence.”

Betrayal jolted through her. “What? I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve never lied to you. The man was a degenerate of the lowest order. Get that into your damn head.” He maneuvered her to a tree, pressed against her, and captured her mouth with unbridled passion. Cold was no longer a problem. Fire shot through her. She fought desire. A faint taste of whiskey on his lips and the smell of his masculinity and sandalwood cologne breached her resistance. Leila was vaguely aware of being lifted. Her heart pounded against her chest. “Please don’t.” She had not allowed desire to engulf her senses. She had not rendered herself useless against the onslaught of his virility. She had not, however, avoided eye contact.

“I can’t fight you.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered.

“Stop. This cannot happen again. It’s too soon.”

He lowered her slowly and said, “When will this end, Leila? It’s been months since he died, and he abandoned you the day you married. What is wrong with you?”

“I need more time. My heart is heavy.”

“Enough.” He adjusted his clothes and walked away.

Still leaning against the tree, she watched him walk away.

Chapter 28

Leila stared at Alex. “What do you mean Rork is gone? Where did he go?”

Alex ran a hand down his cheek, avoiding her eyes. “He said to give you this.” He handed her a sealed missive. “I’ll leave you to read it.”

Fingers trembling, Leila cracked the seal and opened the note.

I’m heading out west alone. I will be away for a year, perhaps longer. Hopefully, when I return, you’ll be done grieving for Hank
.
But I presume a great deal can change in a year
.
R
.

She touched his initial. “He didn’t even bother to write his name.” She balled her hand into a fist, crushed the missive, and walked in haste to her suite.

“That bastard. He makes love to me and leaves. And then he wanted more, to add insult. What a cad!” She slammed her door and leaned against it, fighting disappointment. Sinking to her knees, she opened the crumpled note and laid it on the floor, ironing it with one palm and reading it again. She gleaned nothing more by trying to read between the lines. With her skirt spread around her in a pool of blue velvet, she lay down, pressing her hot cheeks to the cool wood and pounding the floor with her fists.

“Leila!”

She struggled from a disturbed, uncomfortable sleep and rolled onto her back, staring up at Alex. “What?”

Alex knelt and took her hand, his face filled with consternation. “What are you doing on the floor, honey?” His mouth quirked up at one corner. “You did not answer my knock. I let myself in. I hope it’s all right. Gave me a damn fright.” He ran one finger over her cheek. “Your eyes are red as beets. You’ve been crying. Want to talk about it?” He pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her. “Rork told me everything.”

She leaned back in his arms, searching his face, her eyes wide. “Everything?” Heat invaded her cheeks.

“Yup. Even men need to confide occasionally. Rork and I go back a long way. He’s like a son to me. You missed breakfast, and when you didn’t come to lunch, I was concerned.” He led her from the suite. “Come on, a little sustenance will help you think more clearly.”

Biting her lip, she allowed him to lead her to the dining room. Servants arrived with bowls of rich clam chowder and fresh bread. Leila picked at her food.
What am I to do? Do I miss him? He’s like all men—only concerned for himself
.

Alex took her hand. “You have one decision to make. Marry Rork or don’t. This business of blaming yourself for Hank’s death is senseless,” he said with a tight smile. “After all, you didn’t pull the trigger. I shot him, and Sissy finished him off.”

“I know,” Leila mumbled, “but why do I feel so guilty?”

He leaned forward. “Leila, your whole life you’ve been told the fault lies with you if you fail. I have a rather liberal way of thinking when it comes to how children should be reared.” He sat back and stared into the distance. “Which is one of the reasons I never married. I think I realized my methods would have made life difficult.”

Leila stared at him and whispered, “What are your methods?”

“Simple, don’t conform mindlessly, ever.”

“But one has to get on with society or you’d be an outcast.”

“Not at all. You see, you assumed I meant conform to the social dictates of dress and manners. I would teach a child to be discerning. Your mother doubtless told you to obey your father no matter what he demanded or how he treated you. The same applied to the man you marry. Then you took the unthinkable step of wanting a divorce. That was good.”

“Not according to my parents. They told me it was up to me to make it work.”

“Exactly. They taught you to be responsible for the success or failure of the marriage.” He sat back and smiled. “You perpetuate this ridiculous state by saying Hank’s death is your fault.”

“You don’t understand, Alex. Speaking to Hank when he was drunk or hallucinating only incurred his wrath. I should have chosen the time to tell him more carefully.”

“Why should you be responsible for choosing the right moment? The man was intoxicated most of the time.”

“I suppose.”

“So what are you going to do about Rork?”

Leila shrugged. “If he is going west, he’ll probably go to Atchison to get the coach.” She moved the silver spoon around the soup. She jumped to her feet, dropping the spoon and spilling chowder on the lace tablecloth. “I’ll follow him!”

“Good girl. Now sit and finish your soup while we discuss your plan of action.”

Buoyed by her decision, she sat and ate. “I might not find him, of course.”

Alex buttered a thick slice of bread. “Yes, you will. He’ll have to find a stagecoach willing to let him join them.” He chuckled. “It isn’t like boarding the next train to New York. If not, he’ll have to purchase his own wagon with a team of horses and a driver. He’ll need supplies. He’ll definitely not be leaving in a hurry.”

She clapped. “Of course.”

He touched Leila’s cheek. “It’s good to see you smile again.”

Her smile disappeared, and she bit her lip. “I had an unfortunate experience with the captain of a steamer. Rork rescued me.” She related the incident and sighed. “What if that happens again?”

“Then think of a plan to combat such events.” He waved the knife up and down. “It isn’t as if you’re big enough to defend yourself against a man intent on rape.”

“I’m quite resourceful.”

“I’m sure you are, honey.” He pushed aside his empty bowl and sat back. “So, what will you do?”

She rested her chin on one hand. “I could dress as a boy.”

“Brilliant. I actually have clothes left by a friend. The outfits belong to his son, who often joins him. I’m sure he won’t mind if you take a few suits.” He rose and gave her his hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can fit you out with some fashionable male clothes. I would accompany you to Atchison, but I have friends coming to stay.”

She followed him. “I’ll be fine.”

Leila swaggered into the drawing room and turned slowly, arms outstretched. “So, do I pass muster?”

Alex guffawed and slapped his thigh. “You make a very delectable boy. You may have a problem from a different quarter. Best keep that neat backside to a wall. I think every molly within a mile will be after you.”

She frowned. “Molly?”

He coughed lightly. “Ah, men who like men.”

“I thought all men got on with each other famously.”

Alex threw his head back and hooted with laughter. He stopped and scratched his head, smoothing his mop of silver hair. “My sweet ingénue, I’m talking about men who sleep with men and shun the delights of women.”

Heat crept into her cheeks, and she sat slowly on an armchair, her eyes wide and a smile hovering on her lips. “Really? There are men who prefer to, ah, sleep with men? How do they do that?”

Now Alex turned red. “Ah, perhaps Rork can explain it to you.” He jumped to his feet and pulled her up. “Let’s have a good look at you.” He touched her hair, which was pulled back into a braid. “You may have to style your hair to tuck all of it into a hat.”

“Do you have a pair of scissors?”

“What?” He gaped at her. “You aren’t seriously thinking of cutting these gorgeous long locks, are you?”

Leila shrugged. “Why not? It will certainly be cooler in the Nevada desert. One apparently has to cross it on the way.”

“Well, it’s up to you. I thought women shunned the idea of cutting their hair.”

She grinned and raised one eyebrow. “Now who believes everything their parents said?”

“Touché. I’ll get a pair of scissors.” He returned, wielding a pair of scissors, and indicated to an ottoman. “Sit. I’ll be your barber. How much shall I cut off? Many young men have their hair at shoulder length or even longer.”

She sat and pulled a blue ribbon from her hair. “Cut it short—collar length.”

He sighed. “It’s almost a crime to cut this lovely hair.”

“This is the new me.” Leila giggled. “People will think Rork is a molly.”

“How will you contain your bosom?”

For a second, she stiffened. A woman’s bosom was taboo. He’d asked so casually that it was far from offensive. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He cut steadily until chunks of long sable hair lay on the Persian rug. “I suggest strips of cloth bound around your chest. He chuckled. “You’re pretty well-endowed. Not sure you’ll be able to hide them.”

Again, she squirmed at his easy familiarity.
No, this is the new me
. Leila tilted her head back to look at him. “You can help me.”

“It will be my pleasure.” His smile disarmed her. “Not sure Rork won’t be baying for my blood.”

Laughing, she jumped up and ran her fingers through the riot of short tresses. “This feels wonderful—liberating. I shall go into town tomorrow and see if my disguise works.” She pulled a face. “Hopefully, the captain isn’t a molly this time.”

Alex chuckled. “One look at you and most men might be persuaded to change.” He rang for a servant to clean up the hair and escorted her out. “Let’s get some more clothes packed for you. I’ll join you for the trip into town. I’m intrigued to see the reactions you get. What will your name be?”

“What about Leland Jameson? It’s close to my name, and Jameson is my mother’s maiden name.”

“Perfect.”

Booking done on the next steamer to Atchison, Alex strolled into a tavern with Leila. He leaned down and whispered. “This should be entertaining.”

“Alex, how are ya?” A trapper dressed in moccasin boots and a long ornate hide coat approached. He pumped Alex’s hand and looked at Leila. “Starting the lad on the road to debauchery so soon?” He held out a hand to Leila. “I’m Thomas Tobin.”

She took his hand and winced as his callused fingers closed tightly over hers. “I-I’m Leland Jameson.”

Tom adjusted a fluffy, wide-brimmed beaver hat, turned up at one side with a spray of bluebird feathers on it. “Well, young Leland, where ya from?”

“New York, sir.”

Alex clasped Leila’s shoulder. “Leland is going to Atchison and then he’s heading out west. Don’t suppose you’re going that way, Tom.”

Tom pursed his lips and stroked his gaunt olive cheeks. “Matter of fact, I am.”

“Would you mind if the lad traveled with you?”

“You talk a lot, boy?” Tom’s yellow eyes bored into Leila. “Cain’t abide chatterin.’”

“No, sir.”

Alex slapped Leila’s back and sent her staggering and coughing. He grabbed her arm, steadying her. “Boy spends his life with his nose in a book or writing in his journal.”

Tom scratched his chest, rocking on his heels. “I can see he don’t spend much time outdoors.” He studied Leila’s face. “Ya don’t even shave yet. How old are ya anyways, boy?”

Leila looked down and scuffed her feet on the wooden floor. “Fifteen, sir.”

“I was a year younger when I started trappin’. Think ya can keep up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It ain’t a walk in the garden out west. Don’t call it the Wild West for nuthin’. Life is hard on the trail.” He shoved his thumbs into his belt. “Ye’ll have to pull yer weight—grow a pair of balls.”

Leila almost choked. “I’m no slouch, sir.”

“Good. Now, let’s get somethin’ to wash the dust from our gullets.” He sauntered to an oak bar stained dark with ale and whiskey.

The stale smell of alcohol and sweat permeated the smoky air and caught in Leila’s throat. She suppressed a cough and tried not to wrinkle her nose as she followed.

“Two whiskeys and lemonade for the lad,” Thomas barked at the bartender, leaned an elbow on the bar top, and looked at Leila. “Do your ma and pa know where you are, boy, or did ya run away to seek adventure?”

Alex threw an arm around her shoulders. “They asked me to help Leland find his way west. His father thinks he needs to live rough for a bit and become a man.”

Tom expelled a grunt that passed for a laugh. “I’d say his pa is right. Lad is skinny as a whip. Nothin’ like roughin’ it in the wilds to make a man of a boy.” He quaffed the whiskey and slammed the glass down. “Fill ‘er up.”

The barman slopped whiskey into the glass.

Leila sipped the lemonade and watched Thomas covertly. His distinct Indian features were uncompromising—grim.
What am I getting myself into
?
Oh, well, I’ll find Rork, and it will all work out
. She sensed this man could be trusted. It was some comfort that Alex knew and seemed to like him. She cleared her throat and tried to deepen her voice. “How long have you known each other, Alex?”

Alex downed his drink and gestured for a refill. “Tom and I go back years. I dealt in the fur trade for a while, and Tom was trapping with his brother Charles.” He twirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Must be close on twenty years, eh, Tom?”

“Yup.”

“Are you still trapping?”

“Some, but I work with the army, helpin’ them track criminals, insurrectionists, and such like. I’m the liaison with the Indians.”

Alex laughed. “Have you become a bounty hunter?”

“Turns a good profit, and I like takin’ out scum.”

“Then you know about those men that killed thirty Englishmen a while back.”

“Yup. Colonel Tappan, stationed at Fort Garland, has been after the Espinosa boys since last year.” Tom’s yellow eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “I could find the varmints.”

Alex sipped his whiskey. “In that case, why don’t you?”

“I’ll see.” He glanced at Leila. “If I’m takin’ the boy along, it may not be a good idea. They’re mighty dangerous.”

Leila’s eyes dilated.

“Good point.” Alex put an arm around Leila.

Tom hoisted a haversack. “I’ll see if Tappan contacts me. But they may have found them by now.” He smiled. “Be good experience in trackin’ for the boy.”