Waltz with the Lady Page 30

  Gat just stood there considering her, hands resting low on his narrow hips, his black eyes smoldering with private thoughts, all the while knowing that from where he stood, seeing her flushed with the heat of her obvious desire, she would continue to deny him and herself the ultimate union.

  Turning, he said with resignation, “Let’s get this over and done with.”

  So he wants it done with, thought India, slightly wounded by his abrupt manner. She picked up the pen and quickly signed where Ed pointed, one paper after the next. Gat had to guide Thirsty’s hand while he signed the marriage certificate to make the signature legible.

  Before he completed the adoption papers Ed paused. “Ma’am, you’ll have to go back and add Ransom to all your signatures. Now that you’re married, you take your husband’s name.”

  India’s lips tightened stubbornly, but amazingly she said nothing and proceeded to re-sign all the papers. “Now, Mr. Lee, I’ll have my annulment.”

  “Yes, in a minute.” He shuffled through the papers. “Now,” he picked up the papers one by one and stacked them neatly, “here’s the marriage license application, the marriage certificate, and the legalized adoption certificate of one Baby Hope to Mr. and Mrs. Gatlin Ransom and all have my signature as territorial secretary.”

  “And the annulment?” she continued to press him.

  Suddenly, a young boy off the street burst into the office shouting, “Fire! Fire! McDaniels’ Museum’s on fire!” He ran out again sounding the alarm next door.

  Ed dropped his pen and jumped up.

  Gat was across the room and out the door. “By hell, that’s the whiskey side of town, and once it gets going in this wind it’ll burn like Independence Day!”

  Without a second thought to India both men were half way down the street before she could call to them about the annulment. She looked over at Thirsty, who dozed in his chair, then muttering to herself she hurried out the door and followed them down the street toward the plume of smoke swirling above the rooftops.

  India and Heddy carried platters and bowls of food into the boardinghouse dining room, where guests were seated at the table. Voices filled the air and the subject of the museum fire seemed to be the main topic of conversation, but the main concern for India was whether Ed Lee had returned to his office after the fire and written up the annulment. India let her eyes stray over to baby Hope’s cradle where Gat provoked the infant’s delighted coos and giggles by playing peekaboo. All afternoon India had fretted and stewed over the matter, knowing she’d been completely mad to marry Gat Ransom, and until the annulment, the less that passed between them the better.

  “Luckily, McDaniels had a water wagon out back or we’d never have gotten the fire under control,” said Buck Slocum, who was boarding at Heddy’s while the legislature met.

  “Did they discover how it started?” asked Bess, who stood beside him.

  “Yes,” Gat spoke up. “Some drunk stuck a cigar in the stuffed grizzly’s mouth.” Everyone laughed.

  “If yo’ belly’s empty, it’s the time to fill it,” Heddy called cordially, and those not seated sat down.

  “We’ll ask Mr. Slocum to offer grace,” she announced, once everybody was situated. All bowed their heads for the brief prayer, and then she and India began serving.

  “I’m sure hungry,” declared a middle-aged railroad man who was staying in Cheyenne on Union Pacific business. “I’ve never had such food as you fix, Miss Heddy. It’s enough to make a confirmed bachelor want to marry.”

  “Anyone who’d marry just to have a cook should stay a bachelor,” said Gat. India looked at him in spite of herself. He looked back, the dark smoke of his eyes challenging her own. Lowering her eyes, India poured coffee into Bess’s cup. She felt guilty enough for perverting the sacred vow of marriage for her own ends without his blatant condemnation.

  “Thank you, India,” said Bess with a pleasant smile. “I had no idea you were still in Cheyenne. Gat never mentioned it.”

  “I didn’t know, myself,” Gat spoke up. “It seems all the women I know can’t wait to travel east.”

  “Me included,” interjected Bess. “Now that my sister has married, I’ve decided to see the part of the world I’ve missed. After a few days stay in Cheyenne, I’m going to take the train east. I have a great-aunt in New York state who has invited me to come and stay the winter.”

  “So Clarett’s married,” Heddy said.

  “Yes, to Boots Hansen,” Bess said.

  “Seems some boys are lucky,” Gat began, looking sidelong at India. “The way I heard it, no one was marrying in the territory until women got the vote.”

  India smoldered, unable to ignore the taunt in his words.

  Coffeepot in hand she passed him up and exited to the kitchen, where she slammed down the pot on the stove and began to toss dirty dishes into the wash tub with uncharacteristic disregard. How dare he rub it in! I might be a hypocrite, but at least I have a good reason. Still unable to get a handle on her anger she reloaded the serving tray and reluctantly returned to the dining room.

  “I believe you’ve brought dessert instead of the biscuits,” Heddy remarked in passing.

  India looked down at the tray of apple pie dessert. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right with us if you hurry dinner along,” interjected Bess. “Gat and I must leave. He’s taking me to see The Circassian Girl at the town theater tonight.”

  India’s lips pressed into a tight line and she returned to the kitchen for the biscuits. She should have guessed it! On their wedding night he was stepping out with another woman. No wonder he appeared particularly virile, dressed in black wool trousers which outlined the heavy muscles of his thighs above his best hand-tooled boots. His buckskin coat stretched over his broad shoulders, giving him a flawlessly masculine profile, though she did have the wild urge to retouch the lopsided loop of his string tie.

  Later, from the kitchen doorway, with the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes, India watched Bess lean into the circle of his strong arms as he helped her on with her cloak. India winced with a sudden sense of despair as she saw him and Bess leaving, arm in arm, for the theater. You have no one to blame but yourself if the man you love walks out the door with another woman on his arm, she thought miserably. There’s no denying it, you’ve dug the hole yourself!

  In the boardinghouse kitchen baby Hope fussed in the cradle of India’s arms. It seemed as if tonight nothing would settle the infant. By lamplight, India read the letter she’d received from Sarah Bramshill that day. Sarah had never made it to San Francisco. She’d gone to the gold camps of Nevada instead.

  I have made my fortune, India, not in gold, but in pies. I’ve cooked and sold pies for two dollars each to the miners, and now after thousands of pies, I am a woman of some means. For the time being I can support myself, and though I’ve had offers for my hand in marriage, there is not a man alive who can tempt me into the wedded state. I am as happy as I can be. How good it seems to have everyone treat me respectfully. I never hear complaining, nor an unkind word, and in these past months I feel as if I had been let out of prison. I love my freedom. As for Huntington, I have learned he was wounded during gunplay in a St. Louis saloon, and died soon after.

  Rocking back and forth, India put the letter aside, and her lips kneaded together with relief. After all this time she realized she’d been right to interfere in Sarah’s affairs. Sarah had returned the money she’d given her, but more importantly, at a time when India needed it, Sarah’s letter bolstered her spirits. For India, Sarah’s new-found happiness was a reward in itself. However, the battle still raged within her own mind, for she knew not all marriages ended in misery. Many marriages flowered into great happiness, but she had placed that experience beyond her grasp. What could have been between her and Gat was a dismal prospect to face during the late-night loneliness.

  Shortly after midnight India heard Gat and Bess come in. Bess’s laughter filled the hallway, and her passage
up the stairs interrupted India’s quiet reverie.

  The creak of the hallway floorboards drew India’s eyes to the kitchen door. Gat stood there, the scarred side of his face turned toward her as the lamplight played across his darkly rugged features. Thinking back to their first meeting she wondered how she ever could have thought him ominous. He was modest to the point of shyness and sentimental to a fault.

  He pulled his hat down into a dove-tailed dive over his eyes, folded his arms across his chest leaning his wide shoulders against the door frame. His gaze was steady on her.

  She shifted the colicky baby in her arms as a steamy sensation flushed unbidden through her body. She’d never wanted someone to go away so much and at the same time stay.

  “If you have something to say, say it,” she murmured.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  There. It was out in the open. He had the knack of cutting courtesy to the bare bone. It fairly unnerved India, especially tonight while she’d been stewing over her misfortunes, all perpetrated on herself by herself.

  He came into the room.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was stone, but her heart melted into a simmering liquid.

  “It does.” He held her eyes in confident reproof. Then he knelt down before her and traced a finger over Hope’s golden-curled forehead. “Let me take her, after all I’m her legitimate father until we sign the annulment papers.”

  “And when is that momentous occasion?” Her own remedies failing, India surrendered Hope to his arms.

  “Ed promised to draw up the papers first thing tomorrow.” He looked back to the baby, his dark eyes filled with a prideful sparkle. “She sure has grown. I figured you wouldn’t be able to give her up when it came down to it.”

  “Just because I don’t intend to have a husband doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have a child.” There, she thought, if that doesn’t keep him at bay, nothing would.

  “You’re still on the soapbox!” His eyes lowered in disappointment. Then he let out a slow, thoughtful sigh and raised them again to probe hers. “So, why did you stay all this time?”

  “The suffrage bill. But I’m leaving day after tomorrow for Boston. I have the train ticket,” she said in an attempt to verify her motives. “What brings you to town?”

  “You know.”

  “I do?”

  “Bess needed an escort and I came to collect the rest of my fee from Bright.” He was slowly pacing. “I’ve a hunch Campbell will sign the bill. If he does, Bright owes me a little more money.”

  Hopelessness seeped into her rupturing armor. So he’d come because of Bess and the money.

  “Did Bess enjoy the theater?’” she asked, more out of jealousy than interest.

  Gat smiled. “She sure did. Like a child turned loose in fairyland. She’s inclined to high society. That’s why she’s goin’ east. I think she’s roped her last steer and branded her last calf.”

  With relief, India thought so, too. An awkward silence fell. The kitchen clock ticked like an impatient chaperon.

  Gat paused before the windowpane and peered out. “The rain has turned into snow.”

  A brief vision of her and Gat being snowbound, alone together, flitted through India’s mind. Pushing away the thought, she put the rubber-nippled bottle aside and stood. “It seems you’ve put her to sleep.”

  “Some females melt to my touch.” He rested smokey eyes on India. In the kitchen chill her face flamed. “I’ll carry her up,” offered Gat.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ransom.”

  “So you’re back to that. It sounds a little formal for two people who just got married a few hours ago.”

  “We are married in name only,” she reminded. “I got what I wanted from the bargain and you…” Her voice trailed into silence as she calculated what Gat had to gain from it all. Other than securing proper care for Hope there was nothing. Widening her eyes quizzically she looked over at him and opened her mouth to ask just exactly what he had to gain, but the question died on her lips. Every light and shadow of his rough-hewn face, from the dark knot of his brows to the intense line of his determined lips, told her the answer. And the slow, canny shift in the depths of his obsidian eyes told her he was here to collect.

  A tremor, warm as gold, tumbled through her, and she drew in a slow breath and held it for a long second before letting it go. Gat’s whole body remained relaxed in deceptive propriety, but he watched her and in his gaze she knew herself to be not only wanted, but passionately desired.

  In the feathered silence they stood measuring each other, the banter, the sparring, the teasing gone. It became a falling of fences and a forgetting of philosophies, and there was no dilemma in her mind now whether she should or should not go to bed with him. At some point during their months together, the decision had been made for her, and she knew tonight she had no alternative, not because she had put her signature to a somewhat dubious marriage certificate, but because she loved him.

  She turned away from him. Picking up the lamp, she started up the back stairs and, with babe in arms, Gat followed.

  When the door to her room creaked open she gave an uneasy glance down the hallway. No respectable woman would be seen entering her bedroom with a man so late at night. But of course, this was a special circumstance, tonight the man was her lawful husband.

  Inside the room the cradle was to one side of a small woodstove that bellied a glowing red fire. India set the lamp on the writing desk and straightened the cradle blankets. Pressing a kiss on the baby’s wispy curls, Gat laid her down.

  They stood and gazed at the baby, while outside, winging snowflakes touched the cloudy windowpane, spying, then melting into slick droplets. The silence was profound and the shadows of the lamplit room hallucinatory.

  “India,” his voice was low and she turned her head to catch the whisper of her name. Now, she was not looking at him with the eyes of a spinster, nor of a woman who’d sworn never to marry, but of someone in desperate need of intimacy.

  She wanted him to take her into his arms and knew he was dying to, but the first move had to be hers, and after swallowing back years of prudence, with never a thought to silk hankies, she rested a trembling hand on the pine bedstead and said in a soft, silver voice, “I want to make a man of you, Gat Ransom.”

  The strong lines bracketing his mouth relaxed into a smile. “Hell, ma’am, I’m not easily gentled and you’ll never make a swooning Nelly of me, but I’m yours heart and hand.” He hung his hat on the bedpost and rewarded her with his insolent half-grin of I dare you.

  Not a quiver of doubt touched her eyes as she stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and made a tentative, brushing pass on his lips. He responded by circling his large hands around her waist and lifting her in balance against the hard, muscular length of his body. He pressed his mouth upon her cool, moist lips and soon her eyes closed and she lost herself in the sweet promise of loving. Rotating, merging, blending, their lips sought to make the intangible tangible, and she had a breathless sense of being alone with him in a world where nothing had substance and reality but his touch and the sound of his breathing.

  Now more than ever Gat realized there was nothing wrong with being lady-broke, especially by one so confident and loving; after all, the best kind of loving came from the heart with no price tag. When she touched his face with her gentle lips and secreted her hands beneath his buckskin coat to massage his back and shoulders, he couldn’t help but kiss her full mouth, exalted, trembling. Although the lead was hers, he was discovering newfound pleasures in the naivete of the pace.

  He yielded to her soft cajoling to undress. Soon he had shrugged out of his coat and was slowly taking off his shirt. She stepped back, seating herself on the edge of the bed. Next his boots came off and then his fingers stopped at the line of buttons on his pants. Unsure of what she wanted him to do, he looked over to where she sat, her elbows propped on her knees and her chin resting in her hands. Her sapphire eyes were as luminous as silvered
glass and filled with more curiosity than a baby raccoon. He’d lain back appreciatively and watched many a woman undress over the years, but this was the first time he’d been the one to put on the show, and again he was experiencing the other side of loving. He gave a soft smile, feeling totally vulnerable under her admiring gaze, but with innate male conceit he was confident his tall, muscled frame, which molded up to a dense rib cage and wide shoulders, was a wonder of creation.

  Leaving on his pants, he sat down beside her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and rested her cheek against the warm skin of his bare chest. Where her cheek touched him a warmth streaked along his nerves and the familiar minty scent of her hair filled him with a sense of homecoming. He picked up her small hand in his own and splayed her fingers in comparison over the large reach of his own hand. Then interlacing his fingers with hers he marveled at the delicate graceful fingers of her small woman’s hand, but he also saw within her palm a strength beyond his own.

  “You know you aren’t the first woman I’ve…” His words were soft against her ear and tinged with regret, “I wish you were.”

  The husky sound of his voice sent shivers through India, and overcome by the sincerity of his words she lifted her face to the rich, dark brilliance of his eyes and kissed his lips with reassurance. Breath and scent created an enchanting elixir and her hands caressed him and pulled him closer.

  They drifted back onto the feathered folds of the bed like a pair of falling angels and soon her wrapper and pantalettes rained to the floor in a shower of silk and cotton tatting. Side by side, face to face, they lay while their lips touched in random meetings. Gat’s hand moved over her hips and rested on the small of her back. The warmth of his hand, its potency, its solidity released a slow radiance through her whole body. The current from his palm flowed downward like molten gold over her woman’s mound, down farther, down the insides of her legs, awakening instinctive senses. So this is loving, India thought. It is like dying of thirst and then discovering all the water you can drink.