Squire's Quest (23 page)

Callie crossed her arms under her breasts. "I told you. I'm not going to go out in public
in britches."

He picked up the book he'd been reading earlier. "Fine with me. I want to finish this
chapter. Then I've got some work to do, should've been done yesterday."

"I'll walk. It's not so far."

"No, you won't. You're not going anywhere without me." He didn't look up from the
page. "Or Mick, but since he's not here, I guess you're not going anywhere."

"Oh, you--"

He chuckled. "That's what my sisters always say when they lose an argument."

Callie went behind the curtain. She thought about kicking the end of the bed, but it
would have hurt her toes more than the wood. Instead she sat on the edge and cupped her chin in
both hands. The curtain kept her from seeing Merlin, who was sitting at the end of the table
opposite the door. She glared in his direction anyway.

Will it hurt me to wear britches? Pa would have a fit, but he's not here.

Merlin's right. Hiking my skirt up to ride astride isn't modest, and it's
cold.

I don't even know if they fit. If they don't maybe he'll let me wear my
dress.

She got up off the bed and tiptoed to the shelves where her clothes--and his--were
stored. The two pairs of britches were under the nice wool shirts he'd bought. The red plaid was
sure pretty. She touched it lightly.
I've never had anything red. Ma said it was apt to fade in
the wash, and pa didn't hold with women wearing colors. I hate brown.

Her everyday dresses had always been brown, but her best dress was gray. Not much
better than brown. Just different.

She picked up the shirt. Under it was the green one, but it wasn't all green. There were
both-way stripes of black and yellow. She liked it almost as much as the red one, but she'd wear
it another day.

She looked at the next shelf up, where Merlin's clothes were piled. He had three--no,
four--wool shirts, all plaid but each a different color. Three pairs of black britches, the same
black twill he always wore. Two Union suits, both nearly new.

He must be rich.

With a loud sigh--
I hope he heard that
--she pulled the top pair of britches from
under the green shirt. Thinking she might as well wear clean clothes from the skin out, she added
one of the Union suits he'd said were for her. Once she'd laid them on the bed, she raised her
hands to unbutton her bodice. And stopped, when she saw the grease stain circling her breast like
a target.

"Merlin?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Is there a bathtub anywhere around?"

"There's one in the barn. Why?"

"I was thinking. Maybe we could wait to go to town tomorrow. I need a bath something
awful. I'll haul the water and bring in the extra wood. All I need you to do is bring me the
tub."

"I can do that. Just one more page, and I'll fetch the tub." His voice sounded hoarse, as if
he'd a frog in his throat.

* * * *

The temptation was strong. She'd never know if he snuck up to the window and peeked
in.

Just a peek. No harm in that.

How many nights had he lay awake, thinking about what she hid under those godawful
dresses? Every one since he'd found her in Cheyenne, that was for sure.

Merlin couldn't decide what it was he felt for Cal, besides pure, hungry lust. There was
something though. Something more than he'd felt for Felice, a whole lot more than he'd felt for
the few women he'd had for an hour or a night in other towns, before he came to understand that
paid-for release was not much better than none at all.

Just a peek.

He picked up the pitchfork and went to work. Nothing better for curing randiness than a
good sweat.

As he worked, he let his thoughts wander. Murphy expected the wagons back from Fort
Laramie day after tomorrow, so he'd be busy for a couple of days. The teams for the short
train--only five wagons instead of the eighteen in the long train--were ready to go. He'd been feeding
them up, because a fat mule weathered the cold better than a skinny one. The schedule called for
a food and feed shipment to Chugwater later in the week, but he hadn't seen any goods come in
yet. He reckoned Murphy would let him know when it was time.

So far he hadn't had to do any smithing beyond his skill. He had talked to Jed Watkins,
Cheyenne's best smith, by all reports. Jed would handle anything he couldn't.

More weather was coming. He could smell it. The wind had a hint of dampness in it, and
was warmer. Snow, then, likely heavy.
Better lay in grub. We could get stuck out
here.

The thought of being snowbound with Callie gave him pause. After a moment he
straightened, set the pitchfork aside and rearranged himself inside his pants.
Tarnation! Keep
your mind on your work.

Lemuel Smith was somewhere nearby. He knew it sure as he knew his own name. The
man had likely been behind the fire at the hotel.
Would he burn his own child? Or did he
know she wasn't there?

Does he care?

If he was smart, he'd get Callie out of here. Take her home. She'd be safe there. Ma
would be tickled pink...

Well, Hell
! If he took Callie home to Ma, he'd be married in a week. The
thought took his breath away.

Married? I'm not ready to be married. Not yet. Too many places I haven't been, too
many sights I haven't seen.

Might be nice to have company while I see them, though.
Sometimes he'd
wished he had a companion to share his excitement, his wonder with.

Not a wife, though. Not yet.

* * * *

Merlin was in the loft, forking more hay down when he heard the inset door rattle. It
was cut into one of the main barn doors, and it always stuck, so a body had to jerk and tug to
open it.

"Merlin, you in here?"

"Up here, Murph. I'll be done in a bit."

"I just got word. The train from the fort's coming in tomorrow. Jeb didn't like the look of
the weather, so he left a day early and he's pushin'. Sent one of the guards ahead to let me
know."

Half a dozen more pitches and the manger below was full to overflowing. Merlin made
sure all was clear before he dropped the pitchfork. "I took a sniff just after dinner. Snow's
coming." He stepped lightly on the first six rungs, dropped the rest of the way. "Maybe not
tonight, but soon. You reckon to postpone the shipment to Chugwater?"

"Depends on how much snow we get." He worked his mouth and looked over Merlin's
shoulder instead of at his face. "You've got a woman staying with you." His dark skin reddened
over his high cheekbones.

Not laughing took effort. "Cal. She's no place else to go." He took the wide broom to the
floor, sweeping scattered hay over to the big manger. "Haven't you been to town lately?"

"No, I went out to Camp Carlin Tuesday, ended up in an all night poker game. I won,
and I celebrated. Too much. Never did have a head for liquor." His grimace spoke volumes.
"Nothing going on until Jeb gets back, so I borrowed a cot, slept out there the last two
nights."

"You missed all the excitement." Merlin gestured him to the bench against the wall
between two stalls. "Somebody tried to rob her Tuesday..."

By the time he'd caught Murphy up, the cow was lowing to be milked. He took care of
that and left Murphy to see to the mules. With the long train coming in and snow in the offing,
they'd have to use both corrals. At least with snow it wasn't likely to get as cold as it
had been last week, but a heavy fall would be hard on the mules. Good thing Jeb had been able to
get an early start. He doubted the fort had facilities to take care of all the extra stock in a
blizzard.

"Come to supper?" he said, when the mules had been fed and the cow milked.

"I'm obliged. Sure she won't mind?"

"I can't imagine why. Let's go." With one last look around, to make sure all was in order,
he led Murphy toward the narrow door facing the cabin. Halfway there he paused. "Maybe you'd
better let me go ahead. See if she's ready for company."

Just in case Cal was still in the bathtub.

Not likely, but a man could hope.
He couldn't hold back a small smile.

She wasn't. The tub was leaning against the side of the cabin, and he couldn't decide
whether he was relieved or disappointed. He tapped once, then pushed the door open. "Cal? Did
you cook enough to feed Murphy too?"

She stepped out from behind the curtain, wearing the godawful brown dress she'd found
at Herman's.

She knew we weren't going anywhere, so I can't fuss about the britches. But that
dress has got to be the ugliest thing I've ever seen.

He made a mental note to ask if the dressmaker, whose shop he'd seen on Hill Street,
had anything ready-to-wear that would fit Cal. Something green, to match her eyes, maybe.

"There's plenty, but it's not fancy. I didn't--"

Before she could apologize, he said, "Murphy wouldn't know fancy if it bit him on the
ar--on the ankle. As long as there's plenty, and the coffee's strong, he'll be happy."

"Coffee? I didn't--"

"Cal, stop fretting. Murphy's like family. He can wait for his coffee." He turned away
from the stricken expression on her face, wishing there was some way he could have the old,
feisty Cal back all the time, not just when he'd riled her.

If he ever got his hands on Lemuel Smith, he'd... Well, he wasn't sure what he'd do, but
the man deserved great pain and eternal suffering for what he'd done to Cal.

In some ways it was a relief to have Murphy Creek there. Ever since he'd come in,
Merlin had been watching her every move, never letting her out of his sight. Like he was
hungry.

Like he was a hunter and she was a juicy grouse just about to walk into his snare.

She avoided his eye while she set another place at the table and dished up the stew.
Merlin had brought in a keg and insisted on sitting on it, even thought she offered to take it. She
just wasn't used to a man treating her like she was important. Pa never had, neither her nor
Ma.

She listened with fascination during supper, as Murphy told of his adventures since
they'd last met. "I don't understand why anyone would care about what flowers are growing
someplace," she said, when he finished telling about the summer he'd spent in the Sawtooth
Valley, over in Idaho. "It doesn't seem like fitting work for a grown up person."

"That's what I thought when Franklin told me what sort of folks Malachi and me would
be guiding," Murphy admitted. "After I got to know Nelly, I started to understand. She said it
was important to... Let me see if I can remember how she put it. '...to add to the sum total of
human knowledge.' Yes, that's it." His chuckle sounded a little skeptical to her. "I guess that
includes knowing what flowers grow where."

"But they're all the same."

"No, they're not," Merlin said, to her surprise, since he'd said nothing since they'd sat to
table. "Down in Louisiana, the flowers--all the plants--are different from what they were back in
Idaho. And those are different in the valleys and in the mountains. Now Texas, there's a place
where the plants get different from one county to the next."

"I was down in red rock country the year before I went to the Sawtooths," Murphy said
thoughtfully. "Not much the same from one to the other, except maybe grass."

"Even grasses are different. What we cut for hay in Cherry Vale wasn't the same as what
grew on the River Ranch, down along the Boise."

Holding up her hands, Callie said, "I give up. But it still doesn't seem like something for
a grown man to do."

No one argued with her, but she did see Merlin's mouth twitch.

Murphy took his leave not long after that. "Wind's picking up. I'd better make sure we're
ready for a storm."

"I'll come along, check the mules." Merlin put on his hat and coat and followed Murphy
out.

The cabin seemed so empty without him. But safer. The way he'd been watching her
was unsettling.

* * * *

She was in bed when he came in, chilled to the bone. The enamel kettle held tea and it
was hot, so Merlin poured himself a cup and sat at the table to drink it. Except for the sound of
the wind in the eaves, the cabin was silent.

The floor's too doggone hard. And cold. Wish I knew where that draft was coming
from.
His bedroll was still in the corner where he'd left it this morning. The last thing he
wanted to do was crawl between those cold blankets and shiver all night long.

We didn't just sleep alongside each other. We slept in the same bed. No reason we
can't do it again.

No reason except he wasn't sure he could keep his hands off of her. Ever since she'd
spoken the word bath, he'd been picturing her naked. He knew what she'd look like, knew how
her breasts would feel, filling his hands like fat grapefruit, but softer, and ever so much sweeter.
He knew how she'd smell, when he buried his face in her long, thick hair, because he'd never
forgotten the faint hint of musk mixed with spice she always had about her, even after a hard,
sweaty day's work.

Most of all, he knew what she'd taste like, when he sampled her dark, secret places.

"Great God! What a fool." He leapt to his feet and stomped to the corner. Kicking his
bedroll into place, he bent to open it.

"Merlin? Did you need something?" Her voice was soft and whispery with sleep.

Yes. I need you.

"Stubbed my toe. Go back to sleep."

"Uh-huh. G'night."

He washed himself, just a lick and a promise, because he was too lazy to heat up a
bucket of water this time of night. Usually he got himself a bath and a shave every third day
whenever he was anywhere near a barbershop. Tomorrow he'd shave, but the bath would have to
wait. He'd be a fool to leave her alone in town.

All night long, whenever he woke, he strained to hear her breathe. The wind defeated
him, growing stronger by the hour. Sometime in the wee hours, he stood and dragged his bedroll
to the edge of the hearth. That blasted draft had found him again, and his feet were like blocks of
ice. His body grew warmer then, but he was a long time sleeping. All the while he listened, and
heard every rustle, every sigh, from behind the canvas curtain that was as strong a barrier as iron
bars.