Waltz with the Lady Read online

  “We don’t want you to persuade the governor. We need you to help us in another way,” Will Noble said. A fight broke out across the barroom and the men were momentarily distracted. A brass spittoon flew through the air above the table. Will took a moment to press home the idea. “You know, Wyoming isn’t the safest place for a woman, particularly a woman alone.”

  Gat wouldn’t argue with that and nodded in agreement. Sipping from his mug he sensed something else was coming. The invitation for a drink had been more than a friendly gesture.

  “We feel a need to gain more support throughout the territory for this measure before the legislature meets in November,” Noble continued. “We thought if we sent someone throughout the territory on a speaking tour…someone who could enlighten and gain sympathy—”

  “Wait a minute, Will. I’m not the man,” Gat broke in with a chuckle.

  “Hold it, Gat, don’t misunderstand,” interrupted Ed Lee. “We don’t want you to be the one who gives the speeches. We just want you as escort, guide and bodyguard for the speaker.”

  “Oh.” Gat took off his hat with a show of relief. “Why me?”

  “Well,” began Noble, “you’re experienced, you’re unmarried, and”—he coughed slightly—“you’re of good character.”

  “That sounds like you, Will. You’re unmarried and you have a good character,” replied Gat with a glint in his dark eyes. Then again, Gat thought, when it comes to me, it all depends on what they mean by good character. He had a passable reputation in the things that counted, like good sense and judgment. Soldiering during the war had taught him to stand up against opposition until his duty was fulfilled, and he usually met and mastered most situations. But on bad days he could be as ornery, rough, insolent and quarrelsome as the next man. Nevertheless he wasn’t stingy, everybody borrowed off him, and he hated counterfeit in anything. Did that qualify as good character?

  “I would take the job if it weren’t for certain complications, like the running of my newspaper, to name just one,” Will said.

  “Oh come on, Will, let’s just tell him,” interrupted Bright impatiently. “We want you to escort a lady around the territory.”

  “A lady? You boys serious?” Gat put his hat back on and gave a low whistle.

  “We’ll pay you. Name your price,” said Bright. He nipped the end off a thin cigar and struck a match.

  The sound of a piano from upstairs floated above the din of the barroom conversation. Gat listened thoughtfully to the familiar refrain, attempting to recall its name before he gave an answer. “Can you match what I’d make wranglin’ through spring and fall?”

  “Double it!” Bright pulled out his cowhide billfold and opened it. “It might seem extravagant to you, but I’m not alone in thinking Wyoming’s future is worth the investment.” He spread a fistful of greenbacks across the wood table. “This much now and a bonus if the governor signs the bill.”

  Gat picked up a fifty-dollar bill and studied the picture of Henry Clay on one side, and Lady Liberty holding a torch in her hand on the other. His mind was calculating what the money could buy. It was more than he could earn running cattle, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to accompany some sour-faced old suffragette around the territory. “Can this lady ride a horse, or is she too decrepit?”

  Bright looked over to Will Noble with a sly smile. “What would you say, Will? Do you think she is too decrepit?”

  Going along with the jest, Will answered, “I think she can sit on a horse if we can find one sturdy enough to hold her.” The men circling Gat laughed loudly.

  “Don’t mind us,” said Lee, grinning. “We forget that you haven’t met Miss India Simms.”

  India Simms. Gat’s eyes narrowed, his aspect suddenly sobered. He’d hardly forget her! “Sure, I’ve met Miss Simms.” Then to Will, “In fact, escorting her around the territory might just test my good character.” The boys all laughed again.

  “The job starts right away,” Will said.

  “Right away, huh?” Gat was still mulling over India Simms. The memory of her in the bathroom, shocked and horrified, curved the corners of his firm mouth into a complacent smile. “Well, I hadn’t planned on leaving Cheyenne again that soon. But from the way you describe it, the job might be a real vacation. It’s hard for me to believe you boys would pay me this much money just to make sure that little gal doesn’t go in the wrong direction. But I’m game.” Gat reached for Bright’s money and tucked it into his pocket. He pushed his chair away from the table. His eyes went slowly from one face to the next.

  “See you tonight at the governor’s welcome home dinner,” Bright added. “Miss Simms is scheduled to give a short address after dinner.”

  “You ain’t wastin’ any time,” Gat said with a smile. “The governor ought to like a speech on woman suffrage about as much as a calf likes a hot brandin’ iron.”

  Bright exhaled a puff of smoke. “Maybe the governor will learn not to stay out of town so long next time.”

  “Maybe.” Gat touched his hat in parting salute to his friends, inwardly meditating the possibilities of this new venture. As he turned away he heard Tom Douglass, who up until then had been silent, whisper to Bright, “Do you think it’s fair to Gat, askin’ him to take on that she-male?”

  “He took the money. He’ll have to, won’t he?” From behind, Bright’s words followed by a deep roll of laughter irritated Gat. But then, a woman was a woman, and Gat knew a little something about women. Sure he could handle her.

  India put the finishing touch of a tortoiseshell comb into her upswept, plaited auburn hair, and turned to slip on the dress Yee Jim had spent the late afternoon hours pressing. The gown was India’s favorite, since it had been her father’s gift after his trip to the 1867 Paris exposition. The immensely full hyacinth-blue silk skirt was no less than twenty yards draped over a voluminous crinoline. The deeply cut neckline exposed her flawless shoulders, and the lace-sleeved bodice trimmed with blue satin bows celebrated the delicate contours of her arms. A bouquet of intermingling satin wildflowers embroidered the front inset, while fine lace ruching edged the neckline, which was teasingly immodest, revealing India’s generous curve of bosom and a hint of cleavage.

  Though he could well afford it, her father had refused to pay for her to attend college because he didn’t believe women should be educated beyond their sphere in life. So she had taken her future into her own hands and financed her schooling herself. Now, the last of her trousseau treasures, the one item not sold off for her education, the gown, was her compromise with vanity.

  There wasn’t another such exquisitely made dress in all of Cheyenne, nor would anyone suppose that she, suffragette extraordinaire, would have the figure or flair to wear it. Quickly she added the last touch, the sash her sister had embroidered with “Votes For Women.”

  She pinched her cheeks to redness, picked up a tiny bottle of French parfum, and dabbed a few drops behind her ears and over her bare shoulders. Unfortunately, the fragrance revived in her mind the vision of Mr. Ransom in the bathroom. She could forgive him for pouring her precious store of bath salts all over his insect-infested body, but she’d never forgive his irresponsible behavior. She stepped back to view herself in the looking glass for final inspection and instead envisioned the rugged specter of Mr. Ransom. She tugged at the tiny sapphire earring on her right ear with apprehension. His imposing presence haunted not only her dreams but now, her mirror. She’d found his dangerous good looks disturbing, and for the first time in her life she found herself going all soft over a man. But no, she’d vowed never to marry, and that would be the beginning and end of it!

  Taking a deep breath, she blinked his visage away and picked up the speech she had painstakingly prepared for the governor’s welcome home reception, slipping the folded papers into her black-beaded, silk-tasseled handbag. A small knot formed in her stomach, and she felt a little dismayed knowing she wouldn’t do justice to the roast beef supper which always seemed to be the fare for such occasions.
Will Noble had offered to escort her to the hall and he was probably waiting down in the parlor that very minute. Draping her cashmere shawl over her shoulders, she hurried out the door.

  The flow of male voices filtered up the stairway, and as India descended she saw Will and another man conversing in the parlor archway. Hearing the luxurious rustle of her cerise taffeta petticoat, they turned, both stopping in mid-sentence. Their eyes seemed to devour her every step downward.

  “India, at last,” began Will. “You look wonderful.” His eyes lingered a moment before he turned to the man beside him. “Let me introduce you. Miss India Simms, Mr. Gat Ransom.”

  With the touch of Ransom’s gaze a flush suffused her face and crept to the creamy skin of her shoulders. Without apparent embarrassment he smiled at her, a friendly smile that hit her somewhere in the pit of her stomach and spread round her chest with a suffocating sensation.

  “We’ve met,” India said curtly. Her appraising eyes swept over his shirt and leather vest down to his holstered hips to the toe tips of his hand-tooled boots. Though his face was clean-shaven, the scar made his appearance uncivilized and his curly-black hair still brushed his shoulders in the fashion worn by scouts and Indians. “At first I didn’t recognize you. It must be the clothes.”

  Gat gave her an appreciative smile. “May I say your own getup is worth the view.” Scarlet fired her cheeks as his deep-set eyes took in everything about her in a quick sweep. Then, with flattery that verged on insolence, he continued to study the entire length of her body, slowly and with decidedly lustful concentration. Even she, lost and unsure of herself where men were concerned, could not fail to interpret the desire in his smoldering, heathen black eyes. And for some queer reason which she didn’t want to pinpoint, India suddenly wished she were as plain as paper.

  “India, Gat will be your escort through the territory on your speaking tour,” Will said.

  The constriction in her chest gave way to heart-stopping anxiety and she had to make a special effort to keep her mouth closed. A perverse amusement marked every line of Mr. Ransom’s face, but for her this disclosure was not a humorous surprise but a mortifying revelation. The vision of him in the bathtub came back full-blown in humiliating detail, stirring her with an intensity she’d never experienced before. How could he think it could all be wiped away by a nod of the head and a friendly “howdy do”?

  “Why, I…” India searched for the proper words. “I thought you would choose someone…older…more experienced,” she anxiously concluded. Her eyes moved over their faces, never resting on any point in particular.

  “Ma’am, I’m experienced.” His face was sincere but his eye held an elusive twinkle. “I don’t claim to know it all, however; I’m wide open.”

  An unbelieving tremor ran through her and his audacious inference caused her already knotted stomach to twist one more time. If ever there was a man who wasn’t born yesterday, it was Gat Ransom. Why couldn’t Will have asked a man of the cloth, or a…No, she just wouldn’t agree to travel with this Mr. Ransom and after dinner she would tell William!

  “Well, with that settled, shall we go?” Will took India’s arm and Gat moved to open the front hallway door.

  Heddy rushed up the back hall from the kitchen waving a letter. “Gat, wait one minute. I’ll forget if I don’t give it to you now. My, my! Don’t you look nice, darlin’,” she complimented India as she pushed past her skirt. “I have a letter Miss Indy wrote for me to my son, Ty. When you go back to the Sweetwater, you read it to him. I want him to know his ma be thinkin’ about him.”

  “Sure Heddy. I’ll take it.” Gat took the letter and tucked it into his coat pocket.

  India moved toward the open door but found it somewhat difficult, because of the width of her skirt, to maneuver herself and to let Will through the door at the same time.

  “After you,” Will bowed and stepped back. India glided past, wondering if the Paris dressmakers ever took into consideration that not all of their hooped gowns would be worn through the wide corridors of Versailles. Once outside, the trio made their way to Will’s buggy, but after an awkward tussle of hoop and skirt, there was hardly room for anyone inside besides India.

  “She could drive herself over,” Gat suggested with the wit of a folksy philosopher. “We could walk, Will.”

  “What a remarkable idea, Mr. Ransom,” India said, smarting from the inconvenience her vanity was causing, yet irritated by Ransom’s comment. “However, I believe there is just enough room for William.” She pressed herself to one side of the buggy and smiled sweetly to Will.

  Will welcomed the invitation. “Well, if that’s fine with you, Gat, we’ll see you over at the hall.” Gat touched the brim of his hat in a salute of agreement, his black eyes on India. She pointedly avoided looking at him, and after clearing the path of hoop and skirt, Will climbed up beside her and flicked the horses into motion. Gat, followed by his faithful dog, Coyote, walked casually behind.

  He kept a steady gaze on Miss Simms’s profile as she turned to Will Noble’s conversation. She was a beauty, porcelain-like skin, fine bones with features so symmetrical they seemed drawn on her face. Her blue eyes flashed wide with combativeness as if to say “Clear the tracks, I’m coming,” “I will not compromise,” “I will be heard!” Were she a man, she’d be a general. But she fairly wallowed in the shortsightedness of conviction without experience. During the war he’d been led into more than one foolhardy battle by fanatic temperaments like hers. It was clear to him her genteel upbringing had left her like a pruned hedge, but underneath he sensed a luxuriant growth of womanliness that could sate a man’s thirst through a nighttime…maybe a lifetime. He’d never find out for sure.

  Will and the boys had been fools to ask him to be her escort. He’d seen it in her face when Will broke the news to her. He reckoned she wouldn’t let him guide her to the commode, let alone through the territory. It would have been a challenge to teach her that there was more to being a woman than getting the vote. He lifted his gaze to the evening sky and whistled away his disappointment.

  “You can’t imagine how I felt when that old Indian chief, decked out in blanket and war bonnet, got on the train and set himself and his dog opposite me. Why, I nearly fainted,” Milicent Templeton splayed her fan across her breast. Her reddish curls jingled about her pretty face as she chattered animatedly, holding the people at the table in friendly attention. “At least back in Washington our Indians don’t hang scalps on their waist in public. And let me tell you how he stared at my hair! He never took his heathen eyes off me.”

  “Did you ever think that he might have been staring at you because you looked equally strange to him?” asked Amee Bouvette, the actress and famous “Circassian Girl” who sat beside India at the dining table with her escort, Ed Lee.

  Milicent cast the dark-haired beauty a glance which India thought befitted only annoying insects and slovenly servants. Certainly the hall was abuzz with comment while everyone wondered how a burlesque actress could manage an invitation to the governor’s reception, but Milicent Templeton seemed to take personal insult at the “scandalous” way Ed Lee had walked in with the woman on his arm, paraded her through the hall, and sat her down at the governor’s very own table. As for India, she saw no reason for condemnation. By now she was adjusting to western rustics and their aberrant behavior. Besides, she found Amee pleasant company.

  Milicent put her hands to her pink cheeks and continued her hair-raising tale. “He pulled out a knife and started sharpening it. I had no doubt he intended to add my red hair to his collection.”

  “Why didn’t you get up and move?” queried Amee, giving India a sly nudge.

  India put her napkin to her mouth to hide a smile. Milicent Templeton had no idea she was being led. Her main intent was to impress Governor Campbell, and from where India sat, Milicent seemed to be doing an extraordinarily fine job of it. Campbell, a bachelor, attended to her story with the proper amount of admiration.

  “I
did attempt it, but every time I tried to move his dog would growl at me.”

  “Are you sure it was a dog?” Amee asked, fully aware that Miss Templeton found her company and interruptions distasteful.

  “Of course I am sure,” Milicent replied, irritated by the challenge. “I know what a dog looks like.”

  “Could it have been a wolf?” the dark-haired actress wondered.

  “A wolf! My heavens, I was in more danger than I realized!”

  India was certain that this new embellishment pleased Milicent and that by the time she arrived in Washington, her story would be more exciting than a dime novel adventure.

  “So what finally happened?” the governor asked, adjusting his recently wounded arm in the sling, keeping his eyes on Milicent’s charming face the whole time.

  “Well, the Indian spoke to Kendrick. Didn’t he, Kendrick?” She turned to her brother beside her.

  “Yes, in quite clear English. He said, ‘Woman have fire in her hair. I like.’ Then he pointed to my gold watch with his knife tip and said, ‘I like, too.’ Well, I took the hint and gave him my watch. Soon after, the old fellow stood up and left the train at the next stop.”

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  “Why, that was nothing short of outright robbery!” Will Noble exclaimed, pushing his empty plate away and shaking his head.

  “Yes indeed. But thank goodness for Kendrick’s quick thinking, or I might not have my hair now.” Milicent took her brother’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “A woman needs a man’s protection.” Her calf’s eyes rested on Governor Campbell coquettishly.

  “Perhaps, but who’s to protect the woman from her protector?” India asked offhandedly, thinking of Sarah Bramshill. Laughter rang out again.

  “I suppose you think once women get the vote they’ll be able to take care of themselves,” said Gat, his cynical gaze aimed directly at her.

  Plucking at her earring she looked past him to the waiter. She’d suffered Ransom’s gaze on her throughout the meal, and in her opinion, his attention bordered on rudeness. The back of her neck prickled and again she fought back the vision of him standing in the bathtub. The heat of the overcrowded hall emphasized the mounting tension between them and she felt moisture breaking out on her body, trickling down the hollow of her breasts and collecting in the damp strips of the ribs of her corset. Every time their eyes collided the tension grew worse and the hall’s temperature raised to boiling point. She’d never been this nervous before giving a speech.