Whiskey Dreams (5 page)

“Katrina Van Tassel?” Brom asked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Katrina was the only child of the area’s wealthiest farmer, and an exceptional beauty. Her father kept a close eye on any man who might try to make advances on her, untoward or otherwise.

Martha placed her hands on her hips and smiled up at Brom in a self-satisfied fashion. “It’s true. Now that she’s turned nineteen, he’s finally realized he can’t stop the inevitable.”

Brom made a meaningless sound deep in his throat, eager to escape Martha’s chatter.

Apparently, she mistook it for a sign of intense interest. “
You
should call upon Mr. Van Tassel, Brom, and take a bouquet of flowers for his daughter while you’re at it.” She gestured animatedly toward the sprawling fields, which were sprinkled with delicate wildflower blossoms. “I’m sure Mr. Van Tassel wouldn’t turn you away. And everyone can see that you—”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing any flower-picking today, Mrs. Smit,” Brom interrupted. “I’ve promised to show Mr. Crane around Sleepy Hollow.”

Martha frowned, arching a brow critically. “Well, if you promised... It’s only morning though, and there’s the entire day ahead.”

“Indeed. Good day, Mrs. Smit.” With a last tip of his head, he stepped around her, leaving her mumbling something about trillium and asters. It took every last bit of his willpower not to reach back and seize John by the collar, pulling him along before Martha could entangle him in another conversation. Fortunately, John was quick enough to escape the next question she asked – something about his teaching experience in Connecticut – and wisely pretended not to have heard as he and Brom continued in the opposite direction, toward the forest.

“You’ll not want to engage her in conversation if you can help it,” Brom said once they were safely out of hearing range. “At least, not unless you’ve got an hour to spare and a high tolerance for nonsense.”

John smiled briefly, his mouth tilting up at the corners. “You’ve no interest in the Van Tassel girl, then?”

Brom sucked in a breath, careful to keep his expression neutral. Girl? She was more than that. She was a woman, and a fine one. He’d spent some time with her – in the company of her father – at the Van Tassel residence, where he’d sold more than a few horses over the years. If he
were
to marry, she would be his choice. But he’d never seriously considered marrying – not really.

Yes, the farmwives gossiped, all agreeing that it was high time for him to take a wife, but he knew that wasn’t so. What kind of husband could he possibly be when he battled memories nightly, then awoke in the mornings to give in and savor them, hanging on to the little bits of happiness he’d had before the awful conclusion of his and Henry’s time together? No, he didn’t like the idea of sharing his bed, with its sweat-soaked sheets, with a wife. It wouldn’t be fair – not to Katrina, not to anyone. Maybe someday, if the dreams stopped coming every night, and he could leave the past behind. But for now, it was out of the question.

As Brom’s insides knotted with vague guilt and sharp regret, John continued to stare, his eyes questioning as he studied Brom’s face. Brom sensed there was more to John’s question – the smile had faded from his face, and he was watching Brom carefully, his expression half-curious and half-guarded.

“It’s not that I find her unappealing,” Brom admitted. Yes, he appreciated women as well as men, and saw the realization flicker in John’s eyes. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll take a woman flowers because Martha Smit told me to.”

John laughed, and a cool shadow fell over them both as they stepped into the forest. The road wound through it for about half a mile, then emerged on the other side. The schoolhouse wasn’t far past that edge of the wood. “I can’t say I blame you for that.”

Was John repulsed by Brom’s attraction to both sexes? If so, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stared around with a vaguely studious air, as if he were taking mental notes of every little thing he observed. Did that include Brom? Perhaps it did, for John’s eyes flickered toward him occasionally, resting for just a moment before he turned to examine the scenery again.

They passed the rest of the woodland walk in relative silence, and when they emerged into the sunshine on the other side of the thicket, it felt like walking into a new world, leaving an old one behind. “It won’t be long now before we reach the schoolhouse,” Brom said.

John nodded, and Brom thought that perhaps he wouldn’t speak to him again – that he wished to pass the rest of the walk in silence. It was odd; John’s cheeriness came in bursts, interspersed with what seemed like thoughtful silence. Could he be thinking about the kiss? How could he not be? Brom frowned fiercely at nothing in particular. He himself would do best to stop thinking about it.

“Careful!” John cried out suddenly, his voice ringing like a gunshot through the silence. Brom tensed automatically, his senses sharpening as he searched intensely, briefly, for any sign of danger. Then a firm, warm something pressed against his belly and he froze.

John had thrown his arm out and was attempting to hold Brom back, one hand against his waistcoat, his fingers gripping the fabric. It reminded Brom immediately of how he himself had seized John by the front of his shirt the night before. Danger forgotten, Brom’s cock stirred in his breeches, brought to life by simple human contact.

“Off the road, off the road,” John urged Brom, exerting pressure with his hand, his fingertips digging into the fabric of Brom’s clothing and clawing his muscles below in a way that sent heat flooding instantly into every fiber of his being. He could have stood his ground, but didn’t. He let John push him, taking a couple graceless diagonal steps, entering the tall grass at the edge of the road. It tickled and scratched his calves, poking through his stockings, but those sensations hardly registered. John’s hand was still against his belly, his grip fierce.

“What?” Brom asked, his sense of self-preservation mingling with his lust again. “What is it?”

“There,” John said, motioning with his free hand.

Brom gazed in the direction he’d gestured. Several yards ahead, the tall grass rippled, the tops of the stalks waving as they were disturbed below. An animal emerged, small and sleek, its coat night-black. “A cat. It’s only a cat.” Brom glanced sidelong at John. Had he really come from the Connecticut countryside? Surely no one who’d grown up in a village approximately the size of Sleepy Hollow would be frightened by a barn cat making its way through the grass.

“A black cat,” John said, staring after the creature as it crossed the dirt road and slunk into the grass on the other side, probably in pursuit of vermin. “It’s bad luck if one crosses your path.”

Brom searched John’s face for some sign of a joke, but there was none. John was still watching the place where the cat had disappeared into the grass, as if worried that it would double back and cross the road again. His grey eyes were intent, and his grip on Brom’s shirt was still firm. So firm, in fact, that Brom could feel the crescents of John’s nails biting into his skin. Christ, how he would have liked to feel them that way with no fabric beneath them, with no clothing between their skins. “Are you serious?”

“Quite,” John said, though a hint of wariness had entered his voice, and he finally turned to Brom, his grey eyes locking with Brom’s dark ones.

Brom knew John had sensed the reproach in his voice, and had to feel it in his gaze. But Brom couldn’t stop staring, and couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. When John finally looked down at his hand, saw where it rested and pulled it away, Brom caught him by the wrist. “Superstitions. I’ve never understood them.” He maintained his hold on John’s wrist; a part of him had been angered by the fact that John’s foolish, careless touch had nearly been enough to bring him to his knees. Now he was hard, his frustration back in full force.

“It’s a well-known fact,” John said, keeping his eyes level with Brom’s, though the tip of his tongue peeked out, wetting his lips. What that meant, Brom didn’t know – when he saw it, he could only think about one thing.

“Is it?” Brom asked, tightening his grip just a little on John’s wrist. “I say it’s horse shit.” He didn’t want to be angry, but he couldn’t help it. He’d kissed John, not the other way around – there was no doubt about that. And John had walked away. Brom would have had no reason to blame him for his frustration if it hadn’t been for that thoughtless touch. But it had happened, and his blood was beginning to broil, both with vexation and desire. Who the hell touched a man that way – especially after what had transpired between them the night before – because of a cat?

“And I say we just dodged misfortune.”

Brom wanted to laugh, but it was so ridiculous that he couldn’t allow himself to do so. “Have we, now?” He gave John a long, hard look, and found himself looking forward to watching him squirm. If he was uncomfortable, let him admit it instead of hiding behind smiles and antagonizingly light-hearted conversation.

John didn’t look down, didn’t move, but a look of consternation crossed his face. When he spoke, his voice was lower than before, the cheeriness it had carried earlier gone. “You needn’t fret. About what happened last night, I mean. I won’t mention it to anyone.”

A jolt of some stinging, unidentifiable emotion pierced Brom’s consciousness. Finally, the subject had been broached, and all he got was a vow of silence. He released his hold on John’s wrist.

“I swear it,” John continued, his expression earnest. “It can be as if it never happened. I won’t… I won’t expect it to happen again.”

Brom’s heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of ‘again’. “It won’t,” he said, the promise spilling forth as confusion crept into his thoughts, twisting the inflection of John’s words and presenting possibilities, each accompanied by a silent whisper of ‘what if’? He stamped down on those dangerous thoughts. “You walked away, and I’ll respect that. But damn it all, you mustn’t touch me as you just did.”

A flicker of something passed through John’s eyes, accompanied by a determined quirk of his lips. “And if I do?”

“I’ll either make you extremely sorry or very glad that you laid hands on me.”

The light came back into John’s eyes again, and his tongue slipped from between his lips, wetting them again. He said nothing, but slowly – so slowly that Brom watched, his heart speeding with every passing second – reached out, pressing his hand against Brom’s belly again.

His touch was lighter than before; his nails certainly weren’t digging into Brom’s skin this time. But the contact was undeniably deliberate, and he continued to meet Brom’s eyes, taking the smallest of steps toward him.

“Why here?” Brom demanded, feeling oddly suspended from reality. “Why did you walk away last night, if this is what you wanted?” He couldn’t fathom why John would have done so, but he remembered the way he’d kissed back, hungry, before he’d pulled away.

“The whiskey, and the nightmares… I didn’t think you meant it. I thought that perhaps, under normal circumstances, it never would have happened.”

“It probably wouldn’t have,” Brom admitted. “But Christ, I meant it.”

“Then…” His touch faltered a little, his fingers slipping against Brom’s belly.

Brom sighed, unable to keep from entertaining visions of them dipping just a few inches lower and encountering the hard rod of his erection. “Take a walk with me,” he said, closing his hand around John’s wrist again.

“All right.”

Those two words set fire to what was left of Brom’s inhibitions, and he reluctantly let go of John’s wrist, just in case anyone should happen upon them before they escaped view of the road. John accompanied him willingly though, and they waded through the tall grass, toward the farther reaches of the sprawling, unplanted field.

It had been lucky, or perhaps fated, that they’d stopped where they had, at the most remote section of the road between Brom’s home and the schoolhouse. After a few minutes of walking, the road was out of sight, and if they lay down in the grass, they’d be invisible to anyone for miles. Brom made that happen by reaching out and gripping John by the front of his shirt again, pressing his mouth against his as he pulled him down into the grass.

They sank to the earth together, their lips locked and tongues touching, gliding smoothly against each other’s. Brom pressed his body against John’s, eager to close the gap between them. John tasted so good, his mouth a combination of heat and faint whiskey flavor. And his leanly muscled body, snug against Brom’s… He groaned when John’s erection pressed against him, and ran a hand down John’s side and over his hip, reaching for it.