Beverly Jenkins (16 page)

“So,” Chase said, smiling at the passion darkening her feline eyes, “will you have dinner with me? Or do you need to be . . . asked again?”

“No!” she cried more hastily than she intended. “I mean—yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”

He grinned, and once again Cara had to look away from the wicked magic in his dark eyes lest she agree to something else entirely, right there and then.

After a short discussion they agreed to a time and place, though neither of them was concerned with anything so mundane.

“I’ll see you tonight, schoolmarm. . . .”

Cara nodded. Still shaken, she watched him stride to the door and out.

They met at the Sutton Hotel. Cara arrived first, nodding greetings to the familiar faces in the dining room. Chase came in moments later and drew the curious gazes of almost everyone as he crossed to the small table where Care waited. Cara ignored the knowing looks and speculative glances of her neighbors and greeted Chase with a broad smile. “Good evening, Sergeant.”

He grinned. “Evening, schoolmarm.” He took the chair across from her.

They shared a few moments of small talk, then
halted as Mae Dexter came over to take their order. “Hello, Miss Henson, Sergeant Jefferson.”

Cara was a bit surprised to see Mae. Cara knew she worked for Virginia Sutton at the bank, but Cara had never seen her at the hotel. When she expressed this, Mae responded. “I just started today. Papa says if I’m to go to Oberlin in the fall, I need to help with the expenses.”

Cara was pleased to hear Mae would be attending her alma mater. They spent a few more moments discussing the housing offered there, classes, and the like, then Mae took their orders and headed to the kitchen.

“So, Sergeant,” Cara said, “have you and your men enjoyed your stay here?”

“Yes. The tributes, the dinners—we’re going to have to go back out on the trail to get some rest.”

Cara smiled. “The elders will be pleased.”

“They have our thanks.”

Cara wondered why she’d been fated to love a man she’d never see again. Life had played her some cruel tricks, but this had to be one of the worst. “Where are you headed next?”

“Fort Davis, Texas.”

“And that is where?”

“Chiahuahuan Desert. Southwest Texas.”

“Sounds far away.”

“Yes, it does,” he replied looking into her eyes.

Cara tried to dampen the wave of sadness welling up at the thought of his leaving.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She told him the truth. “Just thinking I’ll probably never see you again.”

Chase wanted to reach across the table and take her small hands in his, but he was conscious of the other people in the room. “I’ll miss our play, too, schoolmarm,” he said softly.

Cara read the solemnness in his face and stiffened her lip against the sharp sting in her eyes. Lord, she hoped she wasn’t going to start to cry. Luckily Mae chose that moment to appear with their meals, giving Cara the needed opportunity to think about something else.

When the meal was finished, he walked her home. Cara had decided not to dwell on the sadness. She had another day with him to savor, and she wanted to make the most of the time they had left. Besides, being sad would not prevent his departure.

“You’ve been awfully quiet this evening, schoolmarm,” Chase said, walking beside her.

“I have, haven’t I? Well, that’s going to change.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Of course it’s good. And when we get to Sophie’s, I’ll prove it.”

He stayed her with a hand on her arm. He looked down at her. “Prove it—how?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking, Sergeant,” she said, grinning, though she would dearly love to experience his magical lovemaking again.

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“It’s the look in your eyes. Sometimes I think my clothes are going to catch fire when you look at me that way. . . . But we’re not supposed to be talking about that, are we?”

“No, darlin’, we’re not. . . .”

The huskily spoken endearment fired her as much as his eyes. “Well, will you settle for something that’s almost as sweet?”

The mustache flashed his pleasure. “You’re playing with fire, you know that don’t you?”

“Who, me? I wouldn’t know what to do with a man like you . . . if you fell facefirst into my lap.”

Chase could feel his manhood stir. His eyes sparkled as he replied, “Keep it up, and I’m going to rectify that problem.”

Cara smiled with challenge. “Do you want what I’m offering as proof or not, Sergeant?”

“Yes,” he said, wondering how he was going to keep his hands off her until he rode out the day after tomorrow. “Now march, before I show some proof of my own.”

In the kitchen at Sophie’s, Dulcie looked up at their entrance and smiled warmly. “Well, how was the Black Widow’s food? Hope you have an antidote for spider venom. I hear she puts it in the potatoes.”

Cara shook her head and smiled. “The food was fine, so stop. We came for our dessert.”

“It’s right here,” Dulcie replied. “Just took it out of the oven, so be careful when you’re handling it.” She handed Cara a basket.

“Thank you, Dulcie. Follow me, Sergeant.”

Outside, behind the house, Care led him to the waiting buggy. “Get in,” she told him as she climbed in on the left. She turned to put the basket on the buggy’s floor and picked up the reins. Only then did she notice he hadn’t moved. “What’s the matter?”

“Where are we going?”

“On a picnic.”

“At this time of day? It’s going to be dark soon.”

Cara looked out at the beautiful red of the setting sun. “So it is. Get in.”

He did.

Once they’d cleared town he turned to her. “You know, you’re pretty good with the horses.”

“I’ve been driving teams all my life.”

“Answer me this. How’re you going to explain
us leaving town together? Quite a few of your neighbors saw us.”

“I always go out to visit students and their families on Friday evening. Asa usually goes with me, but he’s down in Rice County. I’m hoping everyone will think you’re escorting me in his place.”

“This is how you usually spend Friday nights?”

“Most times. Why?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Cara. You should have a beau taking you dancing on Friday nights.”

“But I don’t, Sergeant. Besides, this gives me an opportunity to talk with the parents about their children’s progress. We’ve only one stop to make tonight, then we’ll have our picnic.”

Cara pulled the buggy up to the soddy that housed the family of a little girl who’d missed school for several days due to a terrible cough. She was doing much better, the mother assured Cara, and Cara gave the woman the work her daughter could review while recovering. The mother thanked Cara and ‘waved until the buggy pulled out of view.

“Now,” Cara said. “Our picnic.”

When Cara halted the buggy behind an old broken-down soddy in the middle of a field of just greening sunflowers, Chase stared around. “Where are we?”

“We are here.”

Cara hoped down and grabbed the basket Dulcie had prepared. “Come on.” She laughed, looking at his skeptical face. She snatched him by the hand and pulled him in her wake.

About fifty yards from the soddy Cara stopped. “Now I need your brawn. Can you open this door?”

Chase looked down at the plank door set in the earth at their feet. “Is this a dugout?”

“Yep.”

Chase eased up the heavy door and peered down into the blackness. “This is where you want to have a picnic?”

“Yes. See that rope nailed into the door? Pull it up, please.”

Chase hauled up a lantern. Cara took some matches from her skirt pocket and lit up. “Now ease it back down so we can see our way along the stairs.”

Again Chase followed her instructions and slowly sent the light on a return descent.

“Now we can go down.”

Once they were both on the floor of the underground dwelling. Chase stood in the gloom while she lit a few more lamps positioned around the earthen walls. The lights banished the shadows, and he looked around. The place was surprisingly clean. There were no animal droppings or standing water usually associated with such deserted places.
“I
haven’t been in a dugout in I don’t know how long.”

“They aren’t used much anymore, at least not around here. The post office in Nicodemus is still housed in one. Sophie said during the first winter, the whole town was underground.”

Cara spread out a large tarp on the earthen floor and then began to unpack the basket Dulcie had provided.

“How did you find this place?” Chase asked, joining her on the floor.

“It belongs to the children.”

Chase chuckled. “Really?”

“Yes, this is their secret place. I was let in on the location only after signing my name in blood.” The surprise on his face made her smile and add, “I’m serious. I signed an oath saying I would not
reveal the location of the secret dugout to any other adult unless it was an extreme emergency. Do you have any idea how much blood it takes to write ‘C. Henson’?”

He laughed. “A teacher who signs her name in blood. No wonder they adore you.”

“Not always,” Cara corrected, handing him a fork and a napkin. “Sometimes I’m Henson the Hag, or Henson the Horrible.”

“Never,” he contradicted in whispered response.

The tenor of his low voice made her senses rise. She dampened them and concentrated on cutting the pie she’d taken from the basket. “I asked Dulcie and Sophie, and they said this was your favorite when you lived with them in Louisiana.”

With wonder all over his face, Chase took the offered plate on which sat a still warm piece of . . . “Peach cobbler?”

“Yep,” Cara replied, cutting herself a piece. “I hope they were right.”

“They’re right. I haven’t had any in years. This is why you wouldn’t let me order dessert at the hotel?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Chase ate his first bite, and the glorious taste brought forth a groan of pleasure. Cara smiled at his reaction. They ate in silence a moment, then Chase said, “Thank you very much for this, Cara Lee.”

“You’re very welcome.”

While they ate, Chase looked around the room and spied an old broken-down stove in the corner. “That thing doesn’t still work, does it?”

Cara nodded and politely tried to talk around the pie in her mouth. “Not anymore. It might if it had the stovepipe. All of the old dugouts had one of those stoves. Sophie said that’s how you found
Nicodemus and Henry Adams back then, by the stovepipes. They were the only structures in the towns above ground.”

“I couldn’t imagine living below ground,” Chase observed, running his gaze over the earthen walls and floor.

“You do what you have to sometimes. That first winter people didn’t have time to build homes or soddies, so they carved these places out of hillsides or dug them out of the earth. Some of the original ‘dusters will tell you they preferred living below ground in Kansas to living above ground with the Redemptionists.”

“You have a point there, schoolmarm.”

“Do you want more?” she asked, noticing he’d devoured the first piece.

“Yes, and give me a man’s portion this time.”

Cara saluted him crisply and barked, “Sir, yes sir, sir.”

Chase laughed at her application of the Tenth’s well-known three-sir response to an order. “How’d you know about that?”

“Just by being around you and the men. It’s very distinctive, hearing them say ‘sir’ three times every time they’re asked to do something.”

“It’s a tradition,” he responded, taking the newly cut piece of cobbler. He smiled at the slab of pastry she’d given him. “Now this, Miss Henson, is a man’s portion.”

Cara cut herself a small second piece and joined him.

When they’d polished off a good portion of the pie and neither of them could eat another bite, Cara rewrapped it in the cloth and placed it back in the basket. She could tell by the blackness of the sky above their heads that the evening was coming
to a close. “We should be getting back, I suppose . . .”

“Probably,” he replied, but made no move to stand. He seemed content to sit and watch her, making her desire heat up the longer his gaze caressed her. And when he did finally stand, if was not to lend her a hand in gathering up the tarp or basket contents. Rather, he slowly climbed the earthen stairs and pulled down the until now open dugout door. He made his descent and Cara could feel her clothing ignite from the blaze in his smoldering eyes. He came back to the tarp and sat down. For a moment he said nothing, touching her only with her gaze. She stood, locked by the passion he’d unleashed, until he said softly, “Come here, schoolmarm . . .”

Cara set the basket aside and came over to where he sat. He held out his hand. Trembling, she slipped her hand into his and let him slowly guide her down to a kneeling position at his side. He leaned over, and with a hand in her hair brought her mouth to his.

The kiss moved over her like the faintest of moonlight and she drank it in like a night-blooming flower. As it deepened, she ran her hands up his arms, savoring his strength for what she knew would be the last time.

Chase knew he shouldn’t be tempting fate by having her near, but to deny himself was something he could not do. Her mouth, still bearing the sweetness of the cobbler, opened to the tasting of his tongue, and he enjoyed her as if she were the ripest of peaches. Groaning with the pleasure of her, he moved her to sit atop his lap. He left her mouth to kiss the faint bruising around her eye, the edges of her hair, the shell of her ear, his manhood
hardening beneath her soft hips. “Cara, I want to open your shirt . . .”

Cara didn’t protest. Feeling him undo her buttons and kiss each inch of bared skin made the heat between her thighs flow in sweet response. His mouth teased her nipples through her camisole while his hands roamed languidly. She parted her legs to let him slide his hot hand into the throbbing warmth they sheltered, then moaned softly as he dallied lazily through the fabric of her skirt. He pushed the bodice of her camisole down below her breasts and took one dark nipple into his mouth.

“Cara Lee . . .” He breathed, moving his lips to fire her other nipple. He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and squeezed her thigh lovingly. He pushed her dark stocking down her leg, then ran his trembling hand back up the bare limb until he reached the warm curve of her soft hip. He repeated the process on the other leg, then pushed her skirt to her waist and explored until her breath rose against the silence. “Can I?” he asked raggedly, already tugging her drawers down her hips, knowing he’d die if she denied him, but she whispered, “Yes . . .”