The True Love Wedding Dress (29 page)

Josh had spent the better part of the day trying to sort through what it was that he wanted from Penny. He desired her—that much he was sure of. In fact, right now he wanted her to the exclusion of any other woman. Why else had he walked into Rose’s the other night, downed two drinks, chatted up the girls, and then left without so much as a friendly pat on the back?

He wanted to believe that once he scratched that particular itch, he’d be himself again. He’d be the same Josh Cooper he’d been two weeks ago. He wouldn’t pass an entire afternoon trying to piece together the puzzle of this woman’s life. He wouldn’t worry if she was feeling tired or frightened or anxious. Dammit, he wouldn’t think about her at all.

“If I said I felt feverish, would you stay?”

“Are you?”

“Am I?”

She stepped forward, then hesitantly placed her hand against his cheek. As she did so, he turned his head to kiss her palm. She went still. He covered her fingers with his and carefully drew her down to the side of the bed.

Then taking her hand, he placed it on his chest. His heart was pounding as though he’d swum across the bay and back. Josh himself was surprised by the force of his response.

Slowly he reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair, dislodging pins as the thick tresses fell loose around her face. Then he cupped the back of her head and drew her face to his, barely brushing his lips over hers. She tasted like mint. He deepened the kiss. Her fingers dug into his skin, holding him fast.

In one swift movement, he rolled to his side, pulling her with him, her skirts tangling until he kicked them free. He explored the curve of her hip, the dip in her lower back, the swell of her breast. His entire body throbbed, and he had to force himself to slow down even as his hands moved faster over her, wanting to know every perfumed nook and hidden freckle and silky square of skin.

At first her touch was tentative, but as he grew more demanding, she answered his need. Her fingertips, cool and velvety, slid across the muscled furrows of his stomach, causing him to clench his teeth against a hiss of delight.

“Penny,” he murmured.

She answered him with a soft sound that might have been his name or might have been a sigh.

“I want this,” he told her quietly, his voice almost shaking. “I want you. But—”

She, too, hesitated, turning her face into the crook of his neck, her breath a tantalizing caress against his warm skin.

“I want you, too,” she whispered. “And I am not afraid.”

“Are you sure?”

He felt her nod. And then, her words a sweet torment, she added, “I trust you.”

Feeling like a schoolboy, Josh had to struggle to hold himself in check as she kissed the side of his neck, his name a breathless whisper on her lips. With infinite care, he unbuttoned her gown, groaning as she helped him push free the coarse wool. Her skin was a creamy white, glowing in the deep darkness, softer than he had even imagined.

Once she lay next to him, her eyes bashful, her body wanton, Josh knew there would be no turning back. Not if his life had hung in the balance would he have been able to stop himself from having this woman. Gently, reverently, he brought her to the edge of the precipice before he claimed her innocence with a decisive thrust of his hips. Her eyes flew open, but she soon met his rhythm with a passion that nearly undid him. He held strong until she cried out, burying her face in his shoulder. Then, at last, he allowed himself to join her in the lovely agony of release.

He struggled to catch his breath before realizing that he was probably crushing her with his weight. He moved to her side and lay there, one arm draped over her middle, staring blindly into the dark, asking himself what the hell had just happened. When finally he turned his head back toward her, Penny was fast asleep.

P
enny woke up alone in the massive bed. Sore from the inside out, she knew she hadn’t dreamt the events of the previous night, although a part of her wished that she had—the part of her she generally called common sense.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, wondering where and when Josh had gone. And what he was doing. And what he was thinking.

The bedroom curtains were drawn, but sunshine still seeped around their edges, causing her to wonder if she had slept later than usual. She listened carefully for any sound from belowstairs, but all was silent.

Worried that Eliza might be hoping to return that morning, Penny hurried to wash and dress, her muscles aching in places she hadn’t known she had muscles.

“No use having regrets now,” she muttered. She could have walked away from him. She knew it. But she had chosen not to. Deep down, she knew that she had wanted it as much as he had, and she wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. She’d known what she was doing when she snuck in to peek at him. Of course, she hadn’t planned on him waking. She had only wanted to look at him, to memorize each and every feature. The way his lashes curled up at the ends. The tiny scar to the right of his chin. Perhaps it had been foolish of her to fall into bed with him, but women had been doing foolish things in the name of love since before the dawn of time.

Penny had suspected that she was falling in love with Josh that first night he had been so ill. Many years ago, she had nursed Lewis during his final days. She had remembered how terrible it was to watch as death threatened someone you cared about. But during those hours tending Josh, she had felt much more than a friendly concern. She had feared that if he did not survive, the very essence of who she was would shrivel up and cease to exist.

And yet she had still not allowed herself to believe it was love until last night. His touch had confirmed what she had already known in her heart. And so she had stayed with him. And so she had known love. If only for one night.

She would have no regrets.

Her mind so occupied, Penny was lacing up her boots when the parlor clock started to chime the hour.

Six, seven . . .

Her stomach twisted with each ring that followed.

My God, she had never slept past six in her life. The day was nearly gone. And then, Penny actually had to bend over to subdue a wave of dizziness as the realization hit her: In four hours’ time, she was supposed to be climbing aboard the
Mary Woodruff
.

Holding her skirts up, she raced downstairs and darted from room to room. The house was empty. In vain, she searched for a note, while an odd sense of loneliness crept over her. Just as she was headed up the stairs, having decided that she may as well begin her packing, she heard the kitchen door creak open. A jolt of anticipation shot through her, but then she heard the familiar
plonk-plonk
of Mac’s wooden leg.

“Mornin’,” he offered, a bit more civilly than was his custom.

“Good morning.” She fought the rush of heat to her cheeks. “Do you know where Mr. Cooper might be?”

“No, can’t say that I do. Although this mornin’ he rushed outta here like a bat outta hell, he did.”

“Oh?” Penny lost the battle of the blush.

“Aye. Didna say where he was goin’ or when he’d be back, but he mounted up and was gone like the wind.”

“I . . . see.” An icy tightness settled in Penny’s chest. Wasn’t she a foolish thing to have expected anything else? “It, um, seems that I’m to go out on the
Mary Woodruff
today.”

“That so?” The old man gave a thoughtful nod. “Aye, I suppose it is time for her to come in.”

“Yes.” Penny lowered her head, quietly agreeing. “I suppose it is time.”

After choking down a meal of biscuit and tea, Penny set to packing. She had acquired one new piece of clothing during her stay—the emerald gown gifted by Mrs. Murphy, which fit easily with her other belongings into the battered valise. Everything she owned in the world was collected and stowed away in less than twenty minutes. Then Penny began the more difficult chore of drafting a letter to Eliza. She scribbled and scratched and labored over spelling, but an hour later she had produced a note meant to express her gratitude and love, without straying too far into the realm of maudlin.

She toyed with the idea of leaving a note for Josh; however, after a few futile efforts, she concluded that it was impossible. Either her words sounded formal and cold or, worse yet, they revealed too much of her sentiments. For the briefest of moments as she held pen over paper, she wondered if she might give way to a self-pitying tear. But Penelope Martin was made of sterner stuff than that. A sniff here. A bite of the lip there. But she would not cry.

After all, why should she? She was better off than she’d been a few months ago, wasn’t she? Gosh, she was a fairly decent reader now, thanks to Eliza. And she’d cured herself of “ain’t,” and she’d learned a little bit about cooking. Maybe she could find work in Boston or elsewhere, if not as a teacher then as a governess or housekeeper. No, she wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. Not her.

Yet, as the clock struck the hour, reminding her that her time in Seattle was almost at an end, sadness washed over her. She had felt different here in this place, in this home. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she had known what it was to hope for something more.

With her bag in hand, Penny mounted the stairs to the attic. Silly, undoubtedly, but she wanted just one more look at that dress. The one that had made her feel like a princess. Like someone beautiful and special.

The air was chilly, the dust swirling in sparkling spiral patterns as she opened the attic door. She set down her valise and walked over to the trunk. Or where the trunk should have been. She glanced to both sides of her, frowning in confusion. Where was it? She opened one or two different trunks, knowing that they weren’t the one she was looking for but thinking that maybe somehow she’d forgotten what the right trunk looked like. But neither the trunk nor the gown was to be found. Could she have imagined it all?

She was brushing a cobweb from her skirt when Eliza appeared in the doorway.

“No,” the little girl said, her eyes pink-rimmed and watery, her hair as chaotic a jumble of curls as Penny had ever seen.

Wordlessly, she rushed over and hugged the child close.

“It’s not fair,” Eliza whispered. “It’s not what was supposed to have happened.”

Penny squeezed shut her eyes, forcing back unwelcome tears. “I’ll write to you,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice. “All the time. And I expect you to do the same, you hear?”

“Are you going back to Boston?”

“I don’t know. I might stop somewhere along the way if a city looks particularly interesting. But I’ll let you know where I am. I promise.”

“And what about Papa? Have you said good-bye?”

Penny shook her head. She didn’t want to tell Eliza that her father might have left town again.

“I don’t think I’ll have the opportunity,” she said instead. “Besides, it’s just about time for me to head down to the docks. Do you want to come with me?”

Eliza’s lips trembled. “No. I can’t.” And then she ran from the room.

Mac had proposed earlier that he take her down the hill in the coach, an offer that Penny had declined. She wanted one last look at Seattle before she left, and since the day was pleasant, she figured the walk would do her good.

She walked past the Occidental Hotel, where the Mercer girls had stayed upon their arrival to Seattle. She walked past Pinkham’s store, where Eliza liked to buy licorice. At the corner of Commercial, she looked north to the university, its cupola glowing in the sunlight, its neat picket fence freshly whitewashed. In such a short period, this town had become home.

The wharf seemed unusually quiet for a summer afternoon. She recognized a handful of people, including a few dockworkers she remembered from her arrival. Since she had no luggage to attend to, she simply carried her valise onto the steamer. She was surprised to learn upon boarding that she had been assigned a private cabin, an extraordinary luxury. She appreciated the thought, yet wondered whether Josh had arranged it, or if Mr. Swensen had taken it upon himself to procure the nicer quarters.

When the steward offered to show her to her accommodations, she demurred, telling him that she preferred to stay on deck until they’d pulled away. Unrealistic as it was, she entertained the faintest hope that Josh had merely forgotten that the steamer left port today. That any minute now, having recognized his error, and having acknowledged how very much he needed her, he would come galloping up to the pier and prevent her from sailing away from him. So she stood at the railing, the salt wind pulling at her bonnet, and watched the docks. She watched the last bit of cargo being loaded onto the steamer. She watched the seamen scurry back and forth, shouting to each other, sometimes in languages unfamiliar to her. She watched the mooring ropes come loose. Then she watched the expanse of water between pier and ship begin to lengthen. Almost in a daze, she noticed how the stretch of azure ocean continued to grow larger and larger until, raising her gaze to the east, she saw that Seattle was becoming nothing more than a group of grayish-white specks against a forest green background.

A knotty lump had formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. But, by God, she wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. After twenty years of hard living, she wasn’t about to start feeling sorry for herself now.

With measured steps, she made her way across the deck, nodding politely when greeted, since she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her cabin, one of the few private quarters, was easy enough to find, though she felt bewildered and lost as she navigated the steamer’s corridors.

After the brilliant sunshine on deck, she had to stand in the open doorway a moment to adjust to the dimness of her room. An actual bed, instead of a cramped berth, claimed the center of the space and, despite her dazed condition, she was still awed by the cabin’s lavish comforts. It smelled of lemon polish and cedar, and was easily thrice the size of the stale-aired communal cabin she’d shared with seven other women on her westbound journey.