One Day, My Prince, page 8
He sounded like he really cared, like he was truly interested. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Sarah decided to accept it. She needed someone to talk to, on occasion.
“Excitement. Adventure. Life,” she whispered. “I want to help these girls, if I can.” That was the easy part. Was she brave enough to reveal everything here in the dark? Perhaps.
“I want to learn to shoot a gun, and dance by the light of the moon, and walk in the rain,” she said quickly and softly. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d expected it to be. “I want to sing a bawdy song at the top of my lungs and wear a red dress. My mother would never let me have a red dress. She said it wouldn’t suit my unfashionable and unfortunate coloring, that it would look vulgar on me. I always wanted a red dress, though.” She sighed. I want to kiss, she thought. And maybe even discover what love really is. She wasn’t brave enough to say that aloud.
For a long moment Joe was silent, his breathing so even and deep that Sarah began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep after all. Or worse—he’d found her confession silly, her dreams trite. Suddenly she wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself, that she’d pretended to be asleep when Joe had asked.
But finally he whispered, “Rebel, yourself.”
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Chapter Seven
Joe woke with bright light teasing his eyes, light from the sun that broke through the white curtains and touched his face and woke him in a less-than-pleasant way. He came awake slowly, reluctantly. Even though it was late in the morning, he hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep.
He couldn’t remember ever staying up half the night talking to a woman. Listening to her whisper about dancing in the moonlight or walking in the rain, wishing for something so simple as wearing a red dress and singing a bawdy song. He’d answered her questions about his life; most of them, anyway, and he’d asked a few questions of his own, simply because he was curious and bored and looking for a way to pass the hours.
Some decent women would’ve been shocked by the revelation that he’d killed, but not Sarah. She’d taken the news in stride, seeming to take comfort in the fact that he’d never shot anyone who hadn’t tried to shoot him first. It had to have been near dawn when she’d whispered, groggy and half-asleep, “Why?”
Why what? Why had he chosen his profession? Why was he here? Why the phony marriage? There were too many whys to consider, so he hadn’t answered, allowing her to believe him asleep. A moment later he’d heard her deep, even breathing.
Glancing up now showed that she’d fallen asleep with her head at the foot of the bed. A long cinnamon-red braid fell over the end of the mattress, hanging so close to Joe that it was no effort at all to reach up and touch the end of that thick plait.
Last night she’d said he was perverse. Maybe she was right, because he had the oddest urge to teach her to shoot, to walk with her in the rain and dance with her by the light of the moon. He wanted to see her in that vulgar red dress. These were dangerous thoughts.
He sat up, being mindful of his healing wound, and glanced down the length of the bed. One of Sarah’s small feet had escaped from beneath the coverlet and rested on the pillow that remained at the head of the bed. One tiny, pale foot attached to a delicate, shapely ankle and a fetching calf.
Sarah clutched the other pillow, and she pressed half of her face into it as if she were trying to hide from the intruding sunlight. In sleep, she didn’t look prim at all. This close he could count the freckles on her nose, and he could study, much too closely, the shape of the lips that were relaxed in sleep.
Why did he want her? She wasn’t his type, not at all. He could list a hundred reasons why he should steer clear of this woman, a thousand reasons he shouldn’t be here at all.
His body wasn’t listening.
With great care, he rose to his feet. It would be best to get dressed and get out of here. To the barn maybe. Surely there were chores to be done, animals to be cared for, some hard and physical labor that would exhaust him so he’d forget about the woman in his bed. If he could do it with his side the way it was.
He rolled up the bedding and slid it under the bed, since he’d need it again tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. He cursed beneath his breath thinking of all the nights to come.
A brief knock was the only warning he had before the doorknob turned and the door began to swing slowly open. Since this was a house full of little girls, he had no doubt that one or more stood on the other side of that door. It wouldn’t do for any one of them to see him in his present state; naked and semi-aroused.
He made use of the closest concealment available, jumping into the bed and yanking across his midsection some of the quilt that covered Sarah.
The door swung open, and he saw three little Shorter girls standing there; Clara, Evie and Faith. Clara carried a tray laden with two plates of breakfast food, and Evie and Faith each very carefully carried a cup of coffee. Rousing from her deep sleep, Sarah lifted the head that rested near Joe’s feet. Sleepy and disoriented, she looked toward the door and the girls.
“What?” she mumbled groggily.
“Breakfast in bed,” Clara said with a small smile.
Sarah arched up slowly, her head rising and her foot swaying to the side to land on his chest. When skin hit skin she squealed like she’d been shot and twisted around, wide-eyed. Her gaze raked slowly over him from foot to face.
“Mornin’, honey,” he said as her shocked eyes met his. He hung onto just enough of the quilt to keep himself decently covered.
The girls approached the bed with their offering; fragrant eggs, bacon, and coffee. “We’re going to church,” Clara said. “But we wanted to let you know where we’d be and make sure you got some breakfast.”
“Wait,” Sarah said, lifting one pale hand. “And I’ll go with you.” Her voice barely shook.
“You slept too long,” Evie said as she set a cup of coffee on the dresser. Faith copied her older sisters move. “We have to leave right now or we’ll be late for services.”
“It won’t take me long to get ready,” Sarah said, very carefully scooting away from Joe, easing toward the edge of the bed. “Just a few minutes….”
He reached out and grabbed her foot, keeping her in place on the bed. “Shucks, honey, we just got married yesterday. I’m sure the folks will understand if we don’t make it to church just this one Sunday.”
She gave him a fiery glare over her shoulder, but he didn’t release her foot.
Clara placed the food on the dresser beside two cups of steaming coffee, since Joe and Sarah obviously weren’t in any position to take the tray. Sarah was prone on her stomach, one hand over the side of the bed, one foot in Joe’s hand.
“You girls be careful,” Joe said as they left the room and closed the door behind them. “And be sure to give our regrets to the Reverend and that nice Mayor Drake,” he yelled as he held steadfast onto Sarah’s foot.
With the girls on the other side of the door, Sarah yanked her foot from Joe’s grasp and scooted from the bed. She lost her balance as she escaped and slipped over the edge, ending up on the floor with a thud and an oomph.
By the time she took a deep breath and regained a portion of her dignity, Joe was leaning over the side of the bed, peering over the edge.
“You all right?” he asked, a much too healthy dose of humor in his voice.
She glanced up, out of the corner of her eye. “I’m fine,” she said frostily. “Just exactly how long have you been in the bed?” With me? she didn’t add.
“Not long,” he said, making himself comfortable as he peered over the edge of the bed. “Someone was coming, and after all,” he grinned, “we are supposed to be pretending to be married.”
It had seemed like a good idea last night, but that was before she’d spent a sleepless night talking to Joe, before she’d awakened to a large bare foot and a hairy leg inches from her face. Before she’d glanced over her shoulder to find an apparently naked man lounging in her bed, looking big and warm and much too beautiful.
A handsome man who hunted people for a living. A killer. A fast gun, she assumed, like the gunslingers she’d read about in the Eastern newspapers and the dime novels she’d had to hide from her parents. What had Joe said late into last night when she’d broken down and asked if he was fast? A cryptic and very softly whispered, “Not at everything, darlin’.”
She should be frightened, she supposed, but she didn’t see death in Joe’s blue eyes, nor did she see anger and hate and murder. Instead she saw a reluctant softness, a diffident harmony. A hint of the restlessness she felt herself.
It occurred to her, in a foggy, half-asleep moment, that Joe White was everything she’d come West looking for. He was excitement and beauty; he was everything the life her father had planned for her didn’t have. This bedroom was smaller than any room in her father’s house, and yet she didn’t feel trapped here. Not at all. In fact, she felt wonderfully, dizzyingly, frighteningly free.
Sarah gathered what dignity she could muster and rose to her feet. She was being as foolish as the girls! Joe wasn’t going to stay. He was temporary here, a diversion to deceive the people of Jacob’s Crossing, a false father and husband, the convenient solution to a very serious problem. To look at him and see more than was there, well, that was more than foolish, it was downright stupid. Sarah Prince was many things, but stupid was not one of them.
“I’m going to get dressed,” she said calmly as she made her way to the wardrobe and the nearby privacy screen.
“Need any help?” Joe offered casually.
She looked over her shoulder to scold him with a glance, only to find him comfortably ensconced in the bed with his hands behind his head, a smile on his face, his eyes pinned boldly on her, and most of his body thankfully covered. “No, thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said softly, then he closed his eyes.
After church, everyone wanted to know about Joe and Sarah Shorter and the unexpected marriage that was the talk of the town. Alice curbed her impatience to politely answer all questions with as much truthfulness as possible.
She was so tired. Bone tired, and not from the extra physical work that had been required of her since her mother’s death and the desertion of their one hired man. It was worrying that wore her out more than anything. Worrying over big things, like whether some judge was going to split up her family, and small fears like what Clara was going to fix for dinner and if Faith was going to wear out her Sunday dress before Evie had outgrown hers and passed it down.
Having Joe at the house offered a respite from all the worries, but Alice knew his presence and the comfort it offered was temporary. Once he was healed and had fulfilled his promise to her, he’d leave. Sarah said she’d stay, but Alice had her doubts. Why should Sarah take on seven girls that were no relation to her? One day she’d likely take a look around and realize that the Shorter sisters were not her children, not her responsibility, and she’d leave, too.
And then where would they be?
She and her sisters shouldn’t be separated, not ever. It wasn’t right. Somehow, Alice knew Joe White had been sent to them so that would never happen. Why else had he wandered right to their door? He’d been sent by an angel, maybe. A guardian angel. Her mother.
Mayor Drake approached, arrogant in his bearing as always. Red-faced and pucker-lipped, he always looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon and had gotten too much sun.
“Well,” he harrumphed as Alice helped Faith into the wagon.
Two minutes later and they would’ve made a clean getaway! “Good afternoon, Mayor,” Alice said politely.
“I’m surprised your father and his new wife would allow you to come to town alone.” He pursed his lips into a tight little bow.
“It’s not far,” Alice said as she climbed into the driver’s seat to sit beside Becky. “We’ve made the trip many times, by wagon and on foot.”
“Yes,” he said absently. “But you’d think they’d want to make a good impression, given the unusual circumstances of their marriage.”
Alice was ready to bid the mayor goodbye and head for home. It was Evie who spoke up in defense of the newlyweds.
“I don’t think Poppy and Sarah got much sleep last night. They both looked very tired this morning when we took them breakfast in bed.”
“Really,” Mayor Drake said, and impossibly, his face flushed redder than usual. His mouth shrunk to something resembling a raisin.
Faith leaned over the side of the wagon. “Yeah. I know Sarah didn’t sleep well. She was upside down!”
“Upside down?” Mayor Drake asked softly.
Faith nodded vigorously. “Yep. Her head was down by Poppy’s feet.”
The mayor turned redder still, until Alice thought he might explode on the spot. Why, she didn’t know, but it seemed best to make a quick getaway.
“We must be heading back,” Alice said, nodding to the mayor while Becky slipped on her driving gloves. “It was nice to see you, Mayor Drake.”
He seemed unable to answer as they drove away, headed back to the farm.
Becky drove, and the girls in the bed of the wagon chattered happily, so Alice had a chance to stare at the countryside and let her thoughts run free. A few precious moments with no worry; was that too much to ask for?
Yet one worry she was not able to dismiss, no matter how she tried. Faith and Glory had been so young when their father died they had no memory of him. None at all. It had seemed like such a small lie at the time, to tell them that Joe really was their father. She’d been so sure that one of the littlest girls would slip up and say something to give away the game long before the judge came to Jacob’s Crossing, if they knew the truth.
But how would she break the news to them when Joe left? They were already becoming much too attached to him, much too comfortable with this man who was not their father. She remembered Albert Shorter as a loving but stern man who worked a lot and didn’t want to be bothered at the end of the day. He hadn’t smiled and laughed and teased the way Joe did. They hadn’t called him Poppy, like they did Joe, they’d called him Father. If Joe was stern and distant and aloof, maybe it would be easy to be rid of him when the time came, but the truth of the matter was that even Alice was becoming fond of him.
If only he would stay. It was a foolish hope, she knew, but if a guardian angel had sent Joe to them, then it wasn’t an impossible hope. He could stay, truly become their Poppy, and the Shorters could be a whole family again.
What would make a man like Joe White stay on a farm with seven little girls who were not his own? Not obligation, she knew, or charity, or loyalty. Not even the machinations of a guardian angel. What would make him stay forever?
Love, she thought as the house came into view in the distance. If Joe fell in love with his wife, then he’d stay. And so would Sarah. They would be a real family and no one would ever again threaten to split them up.
She should squelch this spark of hope now, before she began to believe it was possible. The marriage was a sham, a hoax, a contrived plan to fool the town and the judge. Sometimes Joe and Sarah seemed not even to like one another very much, and they were so different. Opposites, in many ways.
But if that guardian angel who’d guided Joe to them was still hanging around, then maybe … just maybe … with a little help….
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Chapter Eight
Sarah yawned as she opened the schoolroom door, lifting a gloved hand to cover her mouth. Goodness, she probably hadn’t gotten six hours of sleep in the last two nights combined! One way or another, she was going to have to get accustomed to sleeping in the same room with Joe. At least this morning when she’d awakened she’d been alone in the bed. Joe had been sound asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed, sleeping like a man who had no worries, no troubles. No conscience.
As the door swung in and morning light spilled into the one-room schoolhouse, she was surprised to see Lawrence Drake sitting at her desk and the widow Lottie Handy, dressed in black as always, standing directly behind him.
“Tired, Mrs. Shorter?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck stood up, and an unpleasant chill worked its way down her spine. “A little,” she confessed.
The mayor rose to his feet, lifting his chin in a challenging way.
“You girls play in the schoolyard until it’s time for class to begin,” Sarah said without turning to see that Dory, Evie, Faith and Glory obeyed. They would, she knew.
She closed the door behind her and walked to the desk, knowing that whatever was coming wasn’t good. Mayor Drake looked too smug, and Lottie Handy looked even more sour than usual. That, in itself, was quite a feat.
“Your services as schoolteacher are no longer required here,” Drake said quietly. “Mrs. Handy will fill in until a suitable permanent replacement can be found.”
“I’m prepared to stay on as long as necessary,” Sarah said. “There’s no reason for an immediate change.”
“Your unseemly conduct is reason enough,” Drake said, a hint of anger and superiority in his voice.
Sarah made no move at all, as she searched her mind for an explanation for the mayor’s animosity. Was he speaking of the unconventional wedding? Goodness, she’d never done anything in her life that could be called unseemly. Never. That was, after all, part of the problem that had spurred her westward. She could probably use a little unseemly behavior in her life.
Of course, she knew the answer, she knew why Mayor Drake stared at her with superior, beady eyes. He now knew that she’d been staying at the farm with the girls for several days after Joe’s arrival. Perhaps, in his small mind, those brief living arrangements were sufficiently immoral to make her unsuitable as schoolteacher.
“Well, whatever you think best,” she said calmly. She’d known that eventually someone would come in and take over her job here. Still, Lottie Handy would not have been her first choice. A woman so hopelessly bitter couldn’t possibly be good with children. “Mrs. Handy, if you need any help getting started I’d be happy to stay on a day or two and assist you.”
