Nan Ryan (25 page)

Saturday afternoon rolled around and Helen realized with dismay that she would have to see Kurt briefly. There was no way around it. Every other Saturday he rode into Spanish Fort for supplies.

This was the Saturday.

He had, from the beginning, taken over the responsibility of going into town for needed supplies. Knowing that Helen’s feelings had been badly hurt when she’d gone into town alone, he announced that he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. He would go for her.

At first she had scoffed at the idea, said that was no solution and she wouldn’t hear of it. She told him the last thing she needed was him complicating matters by getting into street brawls. Why, he had asked, would he be getting into brawls? Because, she had warned him, if he walked down Main Street in Spanish Fort he would be insulted and challenged before he’d gone one block.

Kurt assured her he would not rise to the bait, no matter what was said to or about him. From here on, he had calmly declared, he would be the one who went to town.

The citizens of Spanish Fort could hurt her. They couldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’d be leaving right after the harvest. Maybe then, with him gone, the townspeople would cool off and come to their senses. Start treating her with the respect she deserved. Until then, he would handle the chore.

Finally Helen had agreed, and Kurt had been making the Saturday trips into town ever since.

Helen tensed now as she heard the soft knock on the back door. She knew it was Kurt. She buttoned the high collar of her faded calico dress, smoothed back her wayward hair, and picked up her carefully thought out list. She composed her features into what she hoped was a bland, businesslike expression.

She opened the back door.

There he stood, backlit by the sun. Tall, tanned, and undeniably handsome. He was well scrubbed, his hair was neatly brushed, his face closely shaven. He was dressed today in black denim trousers, a gray chambray shirt, and black cowboy boots with a shiny inlaid silver design on the toes.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he said in that rich baritone.

Helen’s attention was immediately drawn to his sensual mouth, and that ludicrous yearning to be kissed by him returned full force.

“Captain,” she replied, dropping her gaze, anxiously thrusting the list at him. “Get just these things I’ve written down!”

Kurt carefully folded the paper once, then once again, and slid it into the breast pocket of his gray chambray shirt. “Have I ever gotten anything other than what you requested?”

“Well, no. No, you haven’t.”

“Any reason to think I might?”

“Captain, it’s getting late,” she said, wanting him to leave. Wanting him out of her sight. Wanting him to … oh, Lord, wanting him! “You’d better be on your way if you’re to get back by suppertime.”

He nodded, but didn’t move. He leaned a forearm on the doorframe and gave her a thoughtful, heavy-lidded look. “I haven’t seen much of you lately,” he stated flatly.

“So?” Her well-arched brows shot up.

“So, are you okay? Feeling all right?”

“Feeling fine, thank you very much.” She was pointedly flippant.

“Good,” he said. A long pause while his eyes studied her face. Then softly, “I’ve missed seeing you.”

“I have work to do,” she snapped, and slammed the door in his face.

A slow smile lifting the corners of his lips, Kurt turned and left.

Kurt encountered the usual catcalls and curses that afternoon in Spanish Fort. He was accustomed to it; he hardly noticed. He walked into Jake’s General Store as if he had no idea he wasn’t welcome there. He turned Helen’s list over to the scowling proprietor, smiled, and told Jake he would be back in an hour to pick up the order.

He walked out of the store, looked up the street, then down. He headed for the county jail to see if Sheriff Cooper was in town. When Coop was around, Kurt shared a cigar and a cup of coffee with him.

The high sheriff wasn’t in, so Kurt recrossed the street, strolled leisurely down the wooden sidewalk, killing time, gazing in shop windows.

He passed by the small emporium for ladies where he had found the mother-of-pearl hair barrette for Helen. He stopped, looked at the items artfully arranged in the shop’s widow display.

A pleated ivory satin fan trimmed in tiny little pearls. A stoppered crystal vial of expensive French perfume. A dainty linen handkerchief and a pair of long white kid gloves. A trio of smooth matching gold wrist bracelets. A carefully folded white lacy undergarment so sheer and fragile it looked like it would dissolve if touched.

A muscle worked in Kurt’s lean jaw. The delicate underwear conjured up improper thoughts and visions. Immediately he pictured Helen in the wispy little bit of gossamer and lace. The vision was so real he swallowed hard and turned quickly away from the window.

But the image stayed on in his mind.

Kurt walked slowly back toward Jake’s General Store, again disregarding the mocking and ridicule of the town locals. When one of the men stepped directly into his path, daring Kurt to say something, Kurt stepped down off the sidewalk and walked on in the dusty street.

The loud laughter and shouts of “That Yankee’s the biggest coward I ever saw” didn’t upset Kurt. He had heard it all before.

He was loading the provisions in the wagon when Niles Loveless came out of his office and started toward him.

Before Niles could ask, Kurt smiled and said, “No, Loveless, Raider is not for sale.”

“You’ll change your mind once you’ve heard my new offer,” said Niles confidently.

“No,” said Kurt, “I won’t.”

“I’m willing to pay three thousand dollars for that sorrel stallion! Think of it, three thousand dollars! We can walk over to the bank right now and I’ll draw out the cash. That’s a lot of money, Northway. You and your boy can be on your way north to your home by tonight.”

Kurt agilely swung up onto the wagon seat, grinned, and said, “I’m on my way home right now.”

Helen frowned when she saw the wagon emerge from the tree-lined lane. She’d been anxiously looking toward the lane for the past hour, expecting his return. And; admittedly, halfway looking forward to it despite her resolve to stay away from him.

But now that he was within sight, she wished she could hide out somewhere. Wished she didn’t have to see him, talk to him, be in the same room with him. In his compelling presence she felt quite powerless and it was a feeling she disliked immensely.

Helen went to the front door, glanced anxiously out at Charlie and Jolly, hoping they’d go to meet Kurt and save her from being alone with him. They didn’t budge from their spot on the top step of the new bay stairs. Helen shook her head. They weren’t going to be any help.

She sighed, then rushed into the silent dining room and nervously checked her appearance in the gilt-framed mirror above the rosewood sideboard. She pinched her cheeks, bit her lips, and ran her fingers through her loose blond hair.

She jumped when Kurt called to her from the back porch, then immediately chided herself for being a nervous Nellie. She threw back her slender shoulders and, taking her own sweet time, marched into the kitchen and opened the back door.

Both his arms filled, Kurt waited for her to step back. Thoughtlessly, she stood there in the way. So Kurt turned sideways and, facing her, eased through the open door with her in it. Their bodies were dangerously close. So close, there were only scant inches of daylight between them. Helen’s full skirts brushed against his trousers legs and, unbeknownst to either of them, the intricate silver work on the toe of his boot snagged the underside of her skirts.

“Excuse me,” she said, face flushing, realizing she was at fault, that she should have moved out of the doorway. With her hands lifted in a defensive manner, she quickly made a move, only to be jerked back. “You let me go!” she said, thinking he had pulled her back.

“Ma’am, I’m not holding you,” Kurt said, gesturing to his arms, which were filled. “My hands are full.”

Her eyes flashing blue fire, Helen yanked on her skirt, saw that it was caught, and said coldly, “Captain, you are standing on my skirt. Kindly lift your foot and set me free.”

They both looked down as Kurt lifted his right foot. Nothing happened. When he lifted his left, her skirt rose with it.

“Stop!” she warned, pressing both hands to the folds of her skirt. “Lower your foot,” she ordered.

She raised her head at the same time Kurt raised his. Their faces were inches apart. Too close for comfort.

“I’m caught,” he said, and smiled.

“Well, get uncaught!” she hissed, reflexively leaning back away from him, turning her head to one side.

Kurt tried. He really tried. He twisted the toe of his boot to the left, then the right. But he couldn’t free the snagged boot from her skirts.

“Ma’am, I’ll have to set these sacks down so I can use my hands.”

Helen made a face. “Well, go ahead. What are you waiting for?”

“You’ll have to go with me.”

“I know that, Captain!”

“Here we go, then,” he said, and grinned sheepishly.

Kurt turned and edged backward into the kitchen while Helen moved forward with him. Kurt went very slowly, taking care not to yank her off balance. Since her skirts were caught by his left foot, Helen had to carefully match her steps to his. When his left foot stepped backward, her right one stepped forward, and so on as they awkwardly made their way into the kitchen.

Facing him, obliged to move with him, forced to be uncomfortably close, Helen found herself in exactly the kind of troublesome fix she’d been trying so hard to avoid.

At last Kurt’s lean buttocks bumped up against the kitchen cabinet. He inclined his dark head, indicating that they were to switch positions. Teeth gritted, Helen followed his lead as they turned about in a tight semicircle.

Her back now to the cabinet, she bridled with indignation as he was forced to lean closer in order to deposit his armloads of provisions onto the countertop behind her. His tall lean body was briefly pressed to hers as he set the heavy bags on the cabinet, one on either side of her.

It took only seconds; it seemed like hours.

For one uncomfortable instant she was trapped inside his long encompassing arms, crushed flush against his, her breasts touching his chest, her temple brushing his chin. He was so close she could feel the heat emanating from him and it sent her senses reeling.

His burden unloaded, hands finally free, Kurt anxiously leaned back. When he did, Helen felt the pull on her skirts. And on her heart.

“I’ll have you free in a second,” he said, and crouched down on his heels directly before her.

With both hands, Helen gripped the cabinet behind her. “Please hurry!”

“I will,” he said as his hand went beneath her skirts. “It’s not your dress after all. It’s your petticoat. The lace on your petticoat is snagged in the silver trim on the toe of my boot.”

“Dress! Petticoat! Who cares? Just get it loose!”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

Kurt couldn’t get it loose. He tried. Taking care not to tear the lace, he worked at it, but to no avail. Attempting to make light of the situation, he grinned up at her and said, “Hope your evening is free, Mrs. Courtney. Looks like you’ll be spending it with me.”

Not on your life!
she thought.
I’ll rip the petticoat up first!

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said aloud. Then, “Move back,” and as a last resort Helen sat down flat on the floor facing him.

“Here, I’ll do it!” she said in exasperation, slapping his hands away.

Muttering angrily to herself, she worked feverishly at getting the caught lace unhooked from the boot’s silver trim. She worked and worked, making unhappy faces, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, her nose wrinkled.

All at once she heard deep, rich laughter. She stopped working, raised her head, and glared at Kurt.

Leaning lazily back, propped on a stiffened arm, he was watching her and laughing as though he found their awkward predicament terribly amusing. She saw nothing funny about it. Nothing! Damn him. He seemed to delight in making her feel foolish and self-conscious. She wanted to wring his neck.

“It isn’t funny!” she told him hotly.

Continuing to laugh easily, Kurt agilely rolled back up into a sitting position facing her. “Ah, but it is. Very funny. Ironic, actually.” He reached out and playfully tugged at a wayward golden curl.

“Ironic?” She shoved his hand from her hair. “Just what the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“For days you’ve assiduously avoided me,” he said, his forest-green eyes shining with devilment. “And here you are bound to me, unable to get away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

But even as Helen spoke, her own sense of the absurd brought the faintest of smiles to her lips. He was right, of course. She had purposely avoided him and now here she was, trapped on the kitchen floor with him, unable to free herself of him.

It
was
funny.

Despite her best efforts not to, Helen began to laugh. Suddenly the whole thing seemed hilarious and she laughed at the utterly preposterous fix the two of them were in. Once she gave in to it, she laughed with delight and total abandon. She laughed as she hadn’t laughed in ages.

Kurt was laughing too. Laughing so hard his wide shoulders shook and his stomach jerked. Tears of mirth soon rolled down Helen’s hot cheeks and she was fighting for breath and hitting at Kurt, begging him to stop it, to stop laughing, to stop making her laugh.

Her caught petticoat was forgotten in the frolic. They laughed and laughed until they were both as weak as newborn kittens and no longer knew what it was they were laughing about. When Helen sagged helplessly toward Kurt, he put supportive hands on her upper arms and gently rested his forehead against hers.

And still they laughed.

Until a piercing scream abruptly ended their laughter.

Chapter Twenty-nine

N
either Jolly nor Charlie had paid any attention to Kurt’s arrival. Theirs had been a busy Saturday afternoon and they were too tired to go meet Kurt.