The Gamble (I) (41 page)

His lips opened, then closed on a faint gust of breath.

She turned away. “I must get my pelisse.” She hadn’t expected him to be so near when she turned from the chifforobe with the garment in her hands. She swung around and bumped his arm. Her heart caromed at his nearness, his scent, his broadness in the heavy winter coat, the striking appeal of his face.

“Here, let me,” he demanded softly, taking the pelisse from her hands.

“Thank you.” She turned and he placed the brown velvet cape over her shoulders, then squeezed her arms tightly and pulled her back against him.

“Please don’t put the hood up,” he requested in a whisper, his lips brushing her ear. “Your hair is too lovely t’ spoil.”

The rush of her pulses seemed to flutter the very air around her. “Scott...” she whispered, closing her eyes,
drowning in bittersweet emotions.

“Hey, I’m hungry!” Willy called from the doorway. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, Scott released Agatha and stepped back, allowing her to lead the way out. Willy thundered down the stairs at breakneck pace. Agatha clutched the rail but found her free elbow held tightly by Scott. She could think of nothing to say as they reached the bottom and he let his hand slip all the way down to clasp hers. He held it tightly until they reached the end of the alley. On the boardwalk, he again took her elbow.

The meal was a farce she’d never thereafter recall clearly. She and Scott talked, but of what remained vague. Willy chattered with boyish enthusiasm and asked endless questions of Scott: “Where will my new cat sleep?” “What’s a scuppernong?” “Are there snakes there?”

Scott answered succinctly—in the kitchen; a wild grape; yes—but rarely gave his undivided attention to Willy. He stared at Agatha instead, feeling restive and agitated, semiaroused and guilty. She was lovely. Why hadn’t he
really
seen it before? What had taken him so long? And she was more of a lady than any woman he’d ever known.

She ate little, but with such incredible delicacy that each movement of her hands and jaws appeared more a dance than the banal acts of lifting food and masticating. He sensed how close to the breaking point she hovered, her tears so near the surface her eyes appeared the deep hue of a magnolia leaf in the spring rain. She was breathless, too, and flushed from trying to contain the emotions so close to welling over. Her fingers trembled and her voice shook, but she forced fleeting laughter for Willy’s sake, whenever the child’s comments demanded it. She seemed unable to meet Gandy’s eyes, though he longed for her to do so throughout the meal. Not until their coffee arrived and he reached for the cheroot and gold scissors did she at last lift her luminous green eyes to his. And once, while he smoked, she closed those eyes and drew a deep breath through distended nostrils, as if savoring the scent for the last, last time. His eyes dropped to the hand she rested on her heart and he wondered if it raced like his. Then she
opened her eyes and caught him watching her and hid her face behind her coffee cup.

He pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s late,” he noted.

“Yes.” Still she refused to look at him. But she wore her hood down as they made their way slowly back to their lodgings. Approaching the stairs, she veered toward them, but he drew her back with a tight grip on her elbow.

“Come with me. We’ll tuck Willy in together.”

Her throat filled. Her heart hammered. But she couldn’t say no. “All right.”

The saloon was silent, dark, a bleak reminder of its former gaiety. Agatha was glad she didn’t have to see into it in the dim glow of the lantern. Willy’s wretched little cubicle was enough. She’d never been into it before and compared the stained wooden floor, the yeasty scents that permeated the room, to what it must be like at Waverley—bright windows and a high bed and more than likely a fireplace in each bedroom.

He shucked down to his woolen underwear and handed her each piece of clothing. She carefully hung them up for morning and smiled as she watched him leap onto his cot, shivering, the trapdoor of his underwear momentarily flashing into view as Moose appeared and leaped up, too. The room was drafty and far from warm. She felt the cold in the marrow of her bones, especially in her left hip, when she knelt down to Willy’s outstretched arms.

“G’night, Gussie.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Oh... oh... the smell of him. She would never forget the smell of him, the little-boy smell she’d come to love. And the fleeting touch of his precious lips.

“You’re comin’ t’ the train with us in the mornin’, ain’t... aren’t you?”

She smoothed the hair back from his temple with one thumb and took a long, loving look into his heartbreaking brown eyes. “No, sweetheart. I’ve decided it would be best not to. The store will be open and—”

“But I want you to come.”

Agatha felt Scott go down on one knee beside her, his thigh pressing against the thick draperies of her skirt. He
rested one arm around her waist and the other on Willy’s stomach, looking directly into the child’s eyes.

Beneath his left arm he felt the trembling disguised by Agatha’s loose pelisse.

“Listen, sprout,” he said, forcing a grin, “y’ didn’t forget about Moose, did y’? She’ll have t’ be takin’ care of Moose now, won’t she?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Willy dragged the cat close. “I’ll bring Moose down just before we leave, all right?”

She couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Well, g’night,” he chirped, too young to realize the full import of last times, finalities.

She kissed him, letting her lips linger against his warm cheek. Scott kissed him, bending his dark head so close his shoulder brushed her breast.

“Sleep tight, sprout,” he said throatily, then stood and reached for Agatha’s elbow. Her heel caught in her bustle as she rose, and her hip sent out a shot of pain as she struggled clumsily to her feet. His hand tightened securely and guided her up.

When the lantern was out they moved through the dark to the rear door of the saloon, Scott’s hand still clutching her arm. Up the stairs... slowly, reluctantly, counting the fleeting seconds until they reached the rough wooden landing. She moved to her door and stared at the knob unseeingly.

“Thank you for the supper, Scott.”

He stood close behind her, uncertain of his ability to speak if he tried. His words came out deep and throaty. “May I come in for a while?”

She lifted her face. “No, I think not.”

“Please, Gussie,” he begged, this time in a racked whisper.

“What purpose would it serve?”

“I don’t know. I just... God, turn around and look at me.” He turned her by an elbow, but she refused to lift her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he pleaded. “Oh Gussie, don’t cry.” He squeezed her elbows fiercely.

She sniffed once and swiped beneath her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to help it lately.”

“Aren’t you really comin’ t’ the station tomorrow?”

“I can’t. Don’t ask it of me, Scott. This is bad enough.”

“But—”

“No, I’ll say my good-byes here. I won’t make a fool of myself in public!”

He dredged up the words that had been haunting him all through the painful good-night downstairs. “Willy should be stayin’ here, with you.”

She pulled free of his touch and half turned away. “It isn’t only him, Scott, and you know it.”

She felt his surprise in the tense moment of silence before he swung her back to face him so abruptly the hood of her pelisse struck her ear. “But why didn’t you...” He glowered down at her, holding her again by both arms. “You’ve never said anything.”

“It wasn’t my place. I’m the woman. Oh... I’m sorry, Scott.” She turned her head sharply aside. “I shouldn’t have now. It’s just... I’ll m... miss you so much.”

“Will you, Gussie?” he asked with wonder in his voice, holding her in place and letting his gaze roam from her hair to her chin, then from ear to delicate ear. “Will you really?”

“Let me go,” she entreated.

He drew her a fraction closer. “Let me stay.”

She shook her head wildly. “No.”

“Why?”

“Let me go!” she cried, whirling from him, stumbling toward the door.

“Gussie, wait!” Just as her hand reached the knob she was spun around and lifted bodily. Her pelisse twisted, binding her feet, catching one arm within its folds. The other groped for something solid and found his neck. Her feet hung a foot off the floor. Her trapped elbow dug into his ribs. They stared into each other’s eyes while denial and arousal warred within them, colored by the awareness that in the morning a train would bear him away from her forever, along with the child she loved.

“Please, don’t,” she begged in a jagged whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he said just before his lips covered hers. The shock of his open mouth sent a current straight to her core. Her own opened and their tongues meshed—glorious,
succulent, shattering. It was nothing like the other kiss they’d shared. This one was greedy and fated, desperate and clinging. He washed the interior of her mouth with his tongue, then, turning, made a soft noise in his throat as he pressed her against the wall. Even while he awakened a deeper yearning than any she’d imagined, she begged him silently to stop. Even while her own throat emitted a sound of passion, she willed him to relieve her of this torture before her heart burst.

She tore her mouth free. “Scott, if I—”

His mouth stopped her protest, stopped the soft open lips that threatened reason. She felt the flowering of passion as a gentle tug at her innards, an involuntary response plucked to the surface by the insistence of his tongue. Hers could do no less than answer, twine, explore, excite. New, delightful things happened in her body until she jerked her head back sharply and gasped for breath.

Her head hit the wall. Her captured arm ached. She couldn’t reach the floor.

“Put me down,” she begged.

He let her slip, freeing his hands. They threaded about her waist, inside the pelisse, learning the feel of her ribs inside their cage of steel and laces. His lips chased hers, but she rolled her head, avoiding further kisses that robbed her of ordinary sense. “If you have any feeling for me at all you’ll stop.” Her arm worked free and she captured his face in both hands, holding his head still. “You’re making it harder,” she whispered fiercely.

With his body bracing hers, he suddenly fell still. His eyes, only deep shadows, raked her face. A shudder of remorse quaked in him and he sagged against her. “I’m sorry, Gussie. I wasn’t goin’ t’ do this. I was only goin’ t’ walk you t’ your door.” His hands left her ribs and, outside her cape, drew her lightly against his chest. With a sudden slump he spun them both about, leaning back weakly against the wall, bearing her weight.

“I don’t want to go,” he said thickly, looking up at the starless sky, with her head nestled just beneath his chin.

“Shh!”

“I don’t want to take Willy away from you.”

“I know.”

“Jesus, I’m goin’ t’ miss you.”

She rested her temple against his chest and tried to swallow the knot of love in her throat.

“S... Scott...” She pushed away, stood on her own again, and lay both palms on his vest. “It’s still not proper, I’m still the... the woman. But there’s something I must say or forever regret not doing so.” She lifted a gloved hand to his jaw and looked at his lips as she said it. “I love you. No...” She waylaid his response by touching his lips. “It isn’t necessary. It would only make life more unbearable without you. Just take care of Willy for me, and send him back whenever you can. Promise?”

He clasped the back of her hand and removed it from his mouth. “Why won’t you let me say it?”

“You would only do so because you feel sorry for me. It’s not reason enough. Promise me,” she reiterated, “you’ll send Willy back.”

“I promise. And I’ll come wi——”

This time it was her lips that silenced his before he could speak the lie. Once he left her he’d forget all about this night, when parting seemed so terrible. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him once—just once as she’d dreamed of doing, holding his head, pressing her breasts against him, and feeling his arms take her—full length, nothing disguised.

“Good-bye, Scott,” she whispered, pulling away. And in a flash she was gone, leaving him bereft and confused.

Inside, she turned the key in the lock, then fell back against it, listening.

“Gussie?” he called softly.

She clamped her upper lip between her teeth.

He rapped softly. “Gussie?”

After the third appeal went unanswered, she finally heard his footsteps cross to his own door.

That night was like a dress rehearsal for the ordeal of saying good-bye to everybody the following day. They came down, one by one, and each parting was harder than the previous one, until finally the one who poked his head
around the door was Willy. He came last, after all the clunking and thumping of suitcases and packing crates had stopped next door. He was dressed in his Sunday suit again and clutched Moose against his shoulder.

“Gussie, we gotta go. We’re nearly late.”

“Come here, darling.” She turned on her swivel seat before the sewing machine. He came into her arms, throwing one arm around her neck, the other maintaining a death grip on the cat.

“Scotty says t’ tell you he’ll write.”

“You must write, too, as soon as you know how. I’m sorry I can’t keep you.”

“I know. Scotty says I hafta remember that you love me.”

“I do...” She held his face in both hands. They were both crying. “Oh, I do. I’ll miss you terribly.”

“I w... wish you was m... my mother,” he choked out.

Clasping him tightly to her breasts, she vowed, “So do I. I couldn’t love you more if I were.”

“I love you too, Gussie. Take good care o’ Moose for me and don’t feed him no milk. It gives him the trots.”

“I won’t.” She laughed pitifully, taking the cat from his shoulder as he pulled away.

He paused uncertainly, clasped his hands behind his back, and shrugged. “Well... see ya.”

She rested her face against the cat’s warm fur but couldn’t force a sound from her throat. Willy spun to Violet, waiting with tears running down her cheeks. “Bye, Vy’let.” She bent down for a swift kiss. Then he sprinted toward the door, paused, and turned, holding the knob. “Bye, Moose,” he said, then ran.