Cinnamon and Roses (3 page)

Rebecca stuck another pin into the hem of
Anabelle
Archer's dress, listening with only half an ear to the other three ladies discussing Caleb Adams.

The Wednesday Group, Rebecca liked to call them, because they came every Wednesday without fail, partly for Rebecca's sewing, partly for the camaraderie, and partly to ensure that Rebecca had customers even if no one else came the entire week. The ladies had all been friends of Octavia Fitzgerald and wanted to support Rebecca in carrying on with Octavia's business.

"That woman who's always with him is his
mistress,
”
Hariette
Pickins
continued, as if the entire
town weren't
already aware of that fact.

Thelma Wilkes, who, along with her husband, owned the local hotel, leaned forward to whisper, “That's right. He goes up to her room and stays there for hours. Well, it's just awful, I tell you."

"At least he had the decency to get her a room at the hotel. Why, poor Holbrook would have apoplexy if his son brought that woman into his home. He told me he downright hates the idea of Caleb keeping that woman, but he's been trying to get his son to come to Leavenworth for so long, I imagine he's willing to put up with just about anything from the boy."

"I think Mr. Caleb Adams is delightful,”
Anabelle
chimed in from her perch on a tiny stool in the middle of the parlor, clasping her hands over her heart. Rebecca pulled them back down to her sides so the dress's hem would hang evenly for pinning.
Anabelle
didn't let that deter her enthusiasm. “He's tall and handsome and—"

"
Anabelle
,” her mother interrupted sternly. “Stand still or Rebecca will never get that hem done. And as for Mr. Adams, you are not to discuss him in public. Is that understood? He is a sinful, immoral man."

Rebecca remained silent, done pinning the new hem of
Anabelle's
pink calico day dress. All it needed was a half inch taken in at the hem and the monogram
Anabelle
insisted be embroidered on every piece of clothing she owned—three A's for
Anabelle
Amelia Archer.

"But, Mother,” the sixteen-year-old protested, as if reading Rebecca's mind, “he's the only man in town whose last name starts with an A.”
Anabelle
was terrified that when she married her initials would change.

"I said that's enough,
Anabelle
,” Mary said with a weary sigh.
Anabelle
dropped her head in defeat.

"All right,” Rebecca said to the girl, motioning for her to step down from the stool. “Let's go into the bedroom, and I'll help you take the dress off without getting pricked by one of the pins."

When they returned a few minutes later, it was to the same conversation as before. The ladies stood up, preparing to leave in a group, just as they always arrived.

"What do you think of him, Rebecca?” Mrs.
Pickins
asked,
her hand on the doorknob.

"Him?”
Rebecca brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt, pretending inattention to the man under discussion.

"Caleb Adams,”
Hariette
provided.
“Holbrook Adams's son.
The man who came to town last week with his mistress.”
She whispered the last word.

"I saw him come here with that ... that kept woman,” Thelma Wilkes said. “What did you think of him?"

Rebecca privately thought he was the most arrogant, pig-headed man she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. “He seemed nice enough,” she answered diplomatically, reluctant, as always, to gossip.

"Oh, tell us,”
Anabelle
begged, bobbing up and down in excitement. “You've been closer to him than any of the rest of us. We've only seen him in the street; you've had him in your house. Tell us what you thought of him. Is he as handsome up close as he looks? And, for heaven's sake, what did that woman of his order?"

Rebecca put her hands on her hips, angry at the memory. She actually opened her mouth to confide that Sabrina Leslie had ordered a very expensive gown and that Caleb Adams had yet to pay for it, when the front door opened, pushing
Hariette
back a few steps.

Rebecca felt her heart do a little flip when she looked up into Caleb Adams's coffee-brown eyes. He stood at least six feet
tall,
towering over her in his black suit, the string at his neck tied neatly this time. Rebecca straightened her spine, chastising herself for noticing anything good about this man, even his strong, fine looks, when she was still furious with him.

"That's him,” she heard
Anabelle
whisper to her mother, followed by Mary's harsh hushing.

Rebecca swallowed but didn't smile. “May I help you?” she asked. If the room hadn't been filled with women who were bound to relay all happenings to anyone who would listen, Rebecca would have told Caleb to get the hell off her property. She had no time for the infuriating man.

But maybe he's here to pay you.
Hope sprouted in her breast. It was then that Rebecca noticed a young woman standing behind Caleb.
Her dark hair, nearly black with hints of red where the sun caught it, was pulled back from her face and held with ivory combs.
She wore a white blouse with lace at the throat and a forest-green silk skirt.

He's found himself another mistress,
she thought with disgust. This one was much prettier, much younger than Sabrina Leslie.
Much
too
young.
The bastard was amusing himself with a child, for God's sake!

Wearing an arrogant half-smile, Caleb put his hand on the girl's back, urging her forward. “Miss Rebecca, this is Megan. She'll
be needing
a few things. If you're not too busy,” he added, glancing at the other four women.

"No, no,”
Hariette
said quickly, bustling out the door and onto the tiny front porch. “We were just leaving, Mr. Adams.” Mrs.
Pickins
looked warily at Megan but smiled brightly at Caleb as she passed him, followed by the other ladies, all beaming up at the dark, impressive man. “Be sure to tell Holbrook we said hello,”
Hariette
called over her shoulder. “Oh, yes ... good-bye, Rebecca."

Rebecca tried not to roll her eyes at the older woman's animation. One minute she was complaining about this man's scruples, the next she was batting her lashes like a smitten schoolgirl. Why was it that women so often let men dictate their emotions? The smallest hint of a smile from a handsome man and most women started to swoon.

Well, not Rebecca. She had been around all kinds of men most of her young life, and none had ever impressed her. Men were self-centered, arrogant, and domineering. The one standing right in front of her was ample proof of that!

Rebecca smiled at the young woman and led her to the farthest chair in the parlor, offering a book of fashions for her to look through. Then she went back to where Caleb stood by the door and in a harsh whisper demanded, “Are you crazy? Bringing another woman for dresses when you haven't paid me for the last one I made!"

Caleb shifted his weight, looking down at the mousy little woman who once again had her hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. And she was wearing those bloody spectacles that never stayed up. “Listen, Miss Rebecca, I've considered what you said the other day, and—"

Rebecca shook her head and interrupted. “It's bad enough that you have one mistress, but to drag this sweet young girl down to your despicable, immoral level is truly a sin. You're a devil to take that poor soul to bed with you."

Caleb stared at Rebecca in disbelief. Had she just implied that his baby sister was a trollop? And he had been about to pay her the money he supposedly owed her.

"I don't think you should comment on things you know nothing about,” he said. He didn't know whether to be amused or insulted by her tirade. She had as much as accused his sister of being his mistress. But then, she had also defended the “poor soul."

He glanced in Megan's direction, hoping she couldn't hear their conversation. She was immersed in the fashion plates on her lap, seemingly unconcerned with their loud whispers.

"Oh, I've known plenty of men like you, Mr. Adams. Your foremost priority is pleasure—your own—and to hell with who gets hurt. Well, you may be rich enough to get away with it, but I will not be a part of that girl's fall from grace. Get someone else to supply gowns for your whores!"

Caleb thought about gently correcting her mistake—until he registered that remark about his wealth. He was well aware that most women were obsessed with material possessions, but despite her demands for the money he owed her, somehow he hadn't thought this petite little seamstress would be among their ranks. He had thought—since she
had
actually plucked a chicken—that Rebecca was different from so many of the other women he had known.

Caleb let the past and his resentment of women in general linger in his mind and decided to go about enlightening Rebecca in a very different way. “Megan, could you come here, please?"

Rebecca took a step away from him, relieved that Caleb Adams and his new mistress would be leaving. Instead, Caleb held the girl's arm as she stood beside him.

"Megan, I'd like you to meet Leavenworth's finest seamstress, Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Megan Adams.
My sister."

Rebecca's heart stopped. Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” she gasped, not believing she'd heard him correctly.

"This is my sister, Megan. She arrived from
New York
a few days ago without much luggage and will
be needing
some new dresses to fill her wardrobe. I was hoping you could help."

Caleb smiled arrogantly and continued, making Rebecca weaker and more embarrassed with every word. “There is the matter of that last bill, of course.” He tapped his chin with an index finger, as though he were considering. “Not to worry, things will even out nicely, I'm sure."

She was sure, too. He would never pay her for Sabrina Leslie's dress now, not after she had so rudely—and so wrongly—insulted his sister. Oh, Lord, things had been much simpler before this man had come to town.

Rebecca acknowledged Megan's polite greeting in numb shock, feeling she had to make some sort of retribution for her ghastly mistake. “I'm sure Megan will find some patterns she likes. We'll have a new wardrobe started before the end of the week.” She smiled at Megan,
then
turned to look at Caleb. “I would like to apologize for any misunderstanding. I sometimes do and say things without thinking them through first."

"We all do at times, I believe,” Caleb answered graciously.

But Rebecca could tell he reveled in her embarrassing predicament. His lofty attitude set her nerves on edge, and her earlier mortification fled. She straightened her spine, pushed the spectacles higher onto her nose, and walked across the parlor, picking up the fashion plates Megan had set aside. Megan quickly followed and sat next to Rebecca on the sofa to look through the patterns.

"Now,” Rebecca said to Megan. “If you want something that will be comfortable to wear for almost any activity, you should probably look at these day dress designs.” She pointed to four simple sketches. “I have some fabrics I think you
'll like that will
keep you cool during the day. Cooler than those silks, I imagine.” She fingered Megan's heavy skirt.

They continued discussing different materials and designs for several minutes before Rebecca noticed that Caleb still stood where they had left him, his arms crossed over his chest. When he brought Miss Leslie, he'd stayed only long enough to instruct Rebecca to give Sabrina whatever she wanted, and then he had gone across town to the Dog Tick Saloon.

She held his gaze for a moment. “This may take a while. If you'd like, you could come back for your sister in a few hours."

Caleb walked past them and sank into an armchair. “I think I'll stay. To make sure I get what I'm paying for this time,” he added pointedly.

Rebecca tensed. “If I remember correctly, you got much more than you paid for the last time. You still owe me—"

"And I intend to pay.” Caleb was enjoying the confrontation. He liked the way Rebecca's eyes narrowed and her face flushed when she fought to control her temper. He could tell she was itching to tell him to go to hell and she'd buy the ticket. But enough was enough. He had already decided—last week, after she'd stormed out of his office—to settle the bill. He simply hadn't had a chance to do so since Megan's arrival.

His declaration obviously shocked Rebecca. She sat starch still, staring at him as if he'd just sprouted wings and was about to fly out her window. Caleb grinned at her speechlessness.

"As I said, I have every intention of giving you the money.” He refrained from mentioning what the bill was for in front of Megan. “Add what I owe you to this bill.” Caleb saw her wariness and quickly tried to allay her fears. “I promise to pay whatever you say I owe.
Within reason, of course."

Rebecca bristled at his comment, her shoulders
rising
a notch. “The last bill I sent was within reason, but you seemed to disagree."

"I realize that now, but Megan's order couldn't possibly be too high. She only wants a few day dresses—isn't that right, Meg?"

Megan nodded. “I only brought two dresses with me from
New York
. It was all I could fit in my bag. Papa says I need more appropriate clothes if I'm going to stay in Leavenworth. I can't go around wearing silk gowns, now can I?” She grabbed a handful of her green silk skirt, holding it out for emphasis. “Not with all the dust and heat you have out here."

Rebecca sat back and blinked in surprise as the initially quiet Megan began talking a mile a minute. “It must seem very rural here compared to what you're used to. I'm surprised anyone from a big city like
New York
would want to live in Leavenworth."

That wasn't exactly true. Rebecca would rather live here than anyplace else in the world. Not that Leavenworth was special as cow towns went, but it was the first place that had ever felt like home.

"Oh, the city's not as wonderful as you may think.” Megan wrinkled her nose and frowned. “It's crowded and dirty and often wet, and everyone thinks they're so much more important than anyone else."

Yes, that sounded like Caleb Adams, all right. Rebecca slanted him a glance. His eyes were locked on her, as if he
were
reading her mind, and she felt her face grow suddenly hot.

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to Megan. “Well, we could be here all day if we don't get serious about this wardrobe. Did you see anything you like?"

"Oh, yes.” Megan's face lit up with excitement. “This one,” she pointed.
“This one.
Oh, this one.
And that one, too."

"
Let"s
stick with three for now, all right, Meg? Maybe you can come back later for more."

Caleb's cultured voice made Rebecca's skin tingle. She reprimanded herself immediately, knowing she had no business even thinking about a man like Caleb Adams, let alone allowing
herself
to admit an attraction toward him.
He's like all the others,
she reminded herself.
Just wrapped in a prettier package.

Caleb pushed open the swinging doors of the Dog Tick Saloon and stepped into the noisy, smoke-filled room. He wasn't sure why he felt the need for a drink, except that he knew he had to go see Sabrina, and he couldn't quite bring himself to do it stone-cold sober.

A tall blonde latched onto his arm almost immediately. Caleb gave her
a
once-over, taking in her long,
stockinged
legs and the short red dress that covered little of her upper thighs. Her breasts were small but nice.

For a scant second, Caleb considered taking this woman upstairs and forgetting about Sabrina over at the Wilkes Hotel. But he had already been away from his demanding mistress for the three days and two nights since Megan's arrival. He might have to send Sabrina back over to Rebecca's for something new and pretty just to assuage her hurt feelings.

Caleb cocked his head toward the blonde, whispered in her ear, and sent her away with a smile. He made his way over to the bar to order a bottle of whiskey, taking it and a glass to an empty corner table far from the loud group of cowboys and saloon girls at the base of the staircase. For long minutes he sat thinking, sipping at the brown liquor. It burned a path down his throat, but he enjoyed the warming sensation it caused in his gut.

He had spent more than three hours in Rebecca's presence, listening to her discuss fashions and styles with his sister. After pulling out his timepiece every few minutes for the first half hour, Caleb had found that he actually enjoyed sitting back and listening to the female conversation and frequent singsong laughter. And now he couldn't seem to get Rebecca's image out of his head. Her bright brown eyes and smooth complexion had somehow gotten stuck in his memory. He could still see the way her head tilted back when she laughed. The rippling sound seemed to echo in his ears.

Damn! Caleb threw back two shots of whiskey in quick succession. Rebecca had said she would haunt him, and she was doing a damn good job of it. But this haunting had nothing to do with claiming money owed.

Caleb's imagination was running riot on him. He couldn't seem to keep himself from wondering what it would be like to take the pins out of Rebecca's hair and let it fall in long rivulets down her back. It would brush her hips and be soft to the touch. Her skin would be pale but sparkle in the dim lamplight like morning dew.

Rebecca would be as passionate in the bedroom as she had been in his office only a few days earlier. Caleb didn't know how he knew this, but his instincts told him it was true. He felt himself grow hard just thinking of her standing naked before him. Caleb couldn't let his mind wander farther down that erotic path or he knew he would explode.

With a muffled curse, he pushed back the rickety saloon chair, grabbed the half-empty bottle, and made a beeline for the Wilkes Hotel, trying not to let his eyes stray to the small house at the end of the street with yellow light shining through its gaily curtained windows. Rebecca would be inside, probably starting one of Megan's dresses. Caleb's pace
quickened,
and he took the hotel steps two at a time. He opened the door to Sabrina's room without knocking. A gust of thick, sickly-sweet perfume washed over him, nearly making his eyes water.

The Wilkes Hotel was one of only two lodging houses Leavenworth could offer, and this corner room was the best they had, though small by city standards. It boasted two windows draped with thick white curtains, one overlooking the town's busy thoroughfare, the other facing the farther, more deserted end of town—where Rebecca lived. A dark, intricately designed dresser lined one wall, with a full-length cheval glass in the corner. Matching nightstands and oil lamps decorated each side of the large canopy bed at the opposite end of the room. The carpet was still deep cherry red but worn and slightly faded around the dresser and bed.

Sabrina was beneath the canopy, reclining against a pile of fat, fluffy pillows. She let out a small cry of pleasure at Caleb's sudden appearance but seemed otherwise undisturbed, as if she was used to men barging into her room at all hours of the night. She wore a filmy pink nightdress covered by a nearly translucent robe of the same color. Neither left much to the imagination.

Caleb wondered briefly if he or some other man had bought the garments, then decided it didn't really matter. He wanted one thing from Sabrina, and one thing only.

Sabrina sat up, displaying a generous amount of cleavage and a pout she had perfected over the years. “You frightened me, darling. I haven't seen you in so
long,
I thought you had forgotten me."

Caleb knew she was fishing for a compliment. Something like, “I could never forget you, Sabrina.” He said it without emotion, meaning it, but not the way she would think. Caleb suspected he wouldn't easily erase Sabrina from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Her maple-syrup voice, her liberal use of cosmetics and colognes, and her overly bright yellow hair doubtless would stick in his memory for some time to come.

"Where have you been, then?"

"I've been busy,” Caleb answered.

Sabrina continued speaking, and he nodded, pretending to listen to her list of complaints as he made his way to the window facing Rebecca's house. He pushed the white draperies out of the way and stared for a minute at the small, plain cabin, taking a long swallow of whiskey.

Caleb knew nearly every inch of Rebecca's home. He knew the sewing mannequin stood before the fireplace, knew where she kept her fashion plates and sewing supplies, her china and cutlery. And he knew that if he went behind the pink and white rose-covered curtain at the back of the makeshift parlor, he would find Rebecca's bedroom. Caleb suddenly wanted to be in it, to know that room intimately as well.

With that thought
came
images of Rebecca, the dress she had been wearing that afternoon, and how she would look out of it. Caleb turned his head toward Sabrina, cringing inwardly at the sight. Despite Sabrina's artificial beauty and practiced charms, Caleb wanted to make love to the small, mousy, passionate woman in the cabin below.

The thought of staying with Sabrina became suddenly unbearable. He moved for the door. “I have to go."

"Where?”
Sabrina cried, coming to her knees on the bed.

"I have some business to take care of. It can't wait."

Her mouth turned down in a pout. “When are we going back to
New York
? You said it wouldn't be long, Caleb. I want to go home. I hate it here,” she whined. “It's hot and lonely, and nobody likes me. Maybe if I bought some new dresses..."

Sabrina's voice hurt his head. He looked at her in stunned realization, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Don't buy anything else on my credit, Sabrina."

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “But, Caleb—"

He shook his head and let his eyes fall closed, trying to keep a headache from forming between his temples. “Use your monthly allowance for a train ticket back to
New York
. There should be plenty of money left.” Caleb ran a hand through his disheveled hair and turned toward the door.

"Oh, no, Caleb.
I don't mind staying a few more weeks.
Really.
I know you want to make sure your father is well before going back.” Her nervous voice belied the calm of her words.