Megan Chance (14 page)

Sari smiled and glanced over her shoulder, expecting to hear Conor's answering chuckle. But there was no smile on his face.

Sari's laughter died in her throat. His eyes glowed as he looked at her. She saw desire in his burning glance, the stiffness of his jaw. The touch of his thigh against her arm was suddenly burning hot. She felt the flush of her face, felt dizzy at the quick racing of her heart.

The singing started again. Sari was dimly aware that Isabel and John were now dancing. Isabel's dark green skirt flashed at the edge of Sari's vision.

Conor's glance never wavered. Sari swallowed. "Please—" she whispered.

He bent forward. His hair fell into his face at the movement, his shoulders flexed. "Please?" he repeated. "Please what, Sari? Please what?"

"Please don't."

He leaned back again. "Please don't?"

"Don't look at me that way."

His smile was enigmatic. "What way is that, love?"

The pounding of dancing feet seemed to reverberate into her brain. Was it that, or was it the way his mouth curved in a funny half smile that made her feel dizzy? She paused. "When you look at me that way, there are no secrets in your eyes. Not like ... other times."

"What does that mean?"

"Other times," she said softly, "it's like there's a wall behind your eyes." She caught his gaze, holding it steadily. "But I suppose you know that. It would be safer for you that way."

He said nothing. Isabel's laugh pealed, sharp and strident, over the singing. The children were giggling now, their high voices competing with the singing.

Sari pressed on. "I would think a man who takes on different roles has to be able to keep secrets."

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the singing stopped, and Miriam squealed, "Sari, Conor, it's your turn!"

The moment fled, the uncertainty she'd glimpsed disappeared. Sari turned to her friend, pasting on a smile. "Isn't there someone else who'd like to go?"

"Come on, Sari," Miriam grabbed her hand, pulling Sari to her feet. "Conor, please. Don't tell me they don't dance in Chicago. Will, start the song!"

Sari tensed. She felt as if Miriam had kept her from finding out something important, something that mattered, and disappointment made her heart heavy. She glanced at Conor. He was watching her, a slight smile on his face, his eyes glittering.

Will hit the tuning fork. Her neighbors started singing. Conor held out his hand.

There was something in his face that made the gesture more than a simple request to dance. As if he'd said,
"Give me your hand. Give me your trust and we can start over."
She wondered if that was what she wanted. To start over. She'd told herself to give him a chance, but in the face of his desire tonight—and her own—she wondered suddenly if she'd been wise. He wanted her, she knew, and she'd never stopped wanting him. But was she ready for such intimacy again? Could she trust him?

Eighteen pounds of meat a week Whiskey here to sell—

Sari put her hand in his, curtsying in response to his bow. His fingers curled around hers, holding tightly. She felt the heat of his gaze brushing over her flushed face.

The singing was off-key, discordant, but it rang with humor. Whistles and shouts emphasized the silly words. She tried to concentrate on the steps, tried not to think about how broad and strong Conor's shoulders were when she do-si-do'd past him and their bodies brushed. She tried not to see how tousled and vulnerable he looked with his brown hair falling into his eyes.

How can the boys stay at home

When the girls all look so well—

When the girls all look so well
.

Sari stood back as Conor did the intricate steps of the first lines, laughing in spite of herself.

"How's this?" He shouted above the singing, looking at Miriam. "This is what you get for that crack about Chicago."

Miriam laughed and shook her head, continuing her light soprano. Conor turned back to Sari, motioning for her to join him again, and she tiptoed in, swinging her brown calico skirts. The room was warm, and thin trickles of perspiration gathered between her breasts. Her hair loosened, trailing across her cheeks, and Sari brushed it aside, ignoring it for the moment while she joined Conor's antics.

"Oh, Conor, no!"

"That's it, Sari, you tell him!"

Amid the cheers and the jests, she pointed her toe, dragging up her skirt to show off her calves clad in black stockings, smiling with mock coquettishness at Conor, then pretending horror at the words.

If I had a scolding wife

I'd whip her sure as she's born
—

Sari stumbled backward, shaking with laughter at Conor's wagging finger. It felt good to laugh, good to feel the sweet enjoyment of simple fun. How long it had been.

She had to admit it had been Conor who brought it to her. The last man in the world she could have believed could make her smile. Until the last few days, until this minute, she would have denied he any longer had the power to make her feel so good.

She twined her arm in Conor's, swirling around him, her skirt catching on her legs. Her chignon slid to the side. He caught her at her waist, swinging her around in the dance. The touch of his hands on her body made her giddy.

He leaned close. "I'd forgotten this."

His whisper trembled through her, his breath fanned the loose tendrils of hair at her throat. Sari raised her head, staring at him, seeing the passion in his blue eyes. His hand curled at her waist, the touch shockingly intimate even though there was nothing overtly seductive in it, and in his eyes she saw a memory. The memory of that dance so long ago, when they'd first met. There had been desire then, before they'd even talked to each other. Yes, there had always been desire.

The song ended, wild clapping followed. Conor's eyes and mouth crinkled in a smile, he made an exaggerated bow. "Thank you, thank you. But don't waste all your applause on me." He grabbed Sari's hand, pulling her against his side. "Don't forget to cheer my partner. She doesn't contribute much, I know—"

Sari pulled away, playfully slapping his chest. Her hair was falling into her face and she wiped it away, along with the fine film of perspiration on her forehead.

"You don't even look out of breath, Roarke!"

Conor shrugged. "Charles's been making sure I'm not lazy."

He grasped Sari's hand, linking his fingers through hers, and led her back to the chair as if nothing had happened.

But she knew it had. As the other couples danced, Sari was overwhelmingly aware of how close Conor sat to her. She tried to ignore him, but the air between them was charged and heavy.

She knew she was as guilty as he for letting it happen. God help her, but she wanted him badly. Even though she told herself she shouldn't, even as she tried to warn herself to beware, the sheer headiness of his presence made those warnings impossible to heed.

She refused to look at him, even when he tapped her on the shoulder or tried to get her attendon with a slight press of his leg. She kept her eyes firmly trained on the party in front of her, singing as loudly as she could—as though sheer volume could make the longing go away.

But by the time Miriam and Tom Johnson collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor, Sari was a bundle of nerves. The moment the singing stopped, she was on her feet, moving to the still uneaten pies on the sideboard.

She pulled plates down from the shelf above the stove, busying herself with starting a pot of coffee and cutting wedges of pie. The children huddled around the table. Their high, tuneful voices were comforting—an oasis of innocence that helped ease the confusion of Conor's sexual aura. The voices of the other adults rose and fell behind her.

"I haven't heard singing like that since I left Ohio," Tom Johnson joked. "Haven't missed it either."

"Ohio?" Charles's voice was sharp with interest. "You are from there, then?"

Sari turned in time to see Tom sit back in the rocking chair and light his pipe. "Sure am," he nodded. "From Youngstown."

"Youngstown?" Charles leaned forward. Sari heard the interest in his voice with a touch of foreboding. "Sarilyn and I come from Pennsylvania."

"Really?" Isabel's winged brows rose delightedly. "Why, then, we were practically neighbors. Where in Pennsylvania? I've been to Pittsburgh a few times."

Sari's tension increased. She threw a glance at her uncle, silently begging him not to say anything, vainly telling herself there was nothing to fear. Perhaps the Molly Maguires weren't news outside of Pennsylvania. But if they were ... She didn't want to take the chance. Please,
Onkle
, she pleaded silently. Please say Philadelphia—

"From the Blue Mountains," Charles said vaguely. "Near Reading."

"Really?" Tom puffed, a cloud of smoke rose around his head. "Not the mining country?"

Sari's heart fell. She felt her uncle's trepidation as clearly as her own. She could not bring herself to look at Conor.

Charles nodded slowly, "
Ja
."

"Oh, my goodness," Isabel put a hand to her mouth in mock concern. "Don't tell me you were there during that awful railroad scandal! Weren't they killing railroad men?" She frowned, looking to her husband. "What was the name of that group, Tom? The Milly something—"

"The Molly Maguires." Tom filled in easily. His brown eyes lit with curiosity. "I suppose, coming from there, you knew all about it?"

"Such a terrible job, working in a dark mine all day," Isabel commented quickly, rearranging her skirts as if she hadn't a care in the world. Her gaze was sharp with interest as she met Sari's eyes. "Didn't someone say your husband was a miner, Sari?"

"He—he was—" Sari cleared her throat, but her voice still sounded stiff and harsh.

"Oh, that's right!" Miriam piped up. "You worked for the railroads in Pennsylvania, didn't you, Conor? Why, you must have all kinds of stories to tell."

Sari froze. She couldn't breathe, couldn't bear to glance to Charles or Conor. Here it was. All her careful lies were about to be revealed, and it was so easy. Just one innocent question, and the life she'd worked so hard to build was going to fall apart.

"I'm afraid that all happened long after I left."

His voice, sure and deep, surprised her. Sari's gaze jerked to his. His eyes swept her face; she saw soft reassurance, soothing comfort. Her fear eased, the constriction in her chest loosened.

"You missed the most exciting time, then," John smiled. "What about you, Charles? Did you see any of it? Was your whole family there?"

"
Ja
." Charles said gently. "
Ja,
we were there. It was a terrible time. A time I do not like to remember."

Sari felt her uncle's sadness, mixing with her own bleak memories. But still there was relief—so intense, it made her breathing harsh. It was only a brief respite, she knew. The questions never ended. Someone would get too close, and the speculation would begin again. Sooner or later someone would find out the truth.

And she would see those condemning eyes again.

She closed her eyes, turning her back to the crowd. Conor could so easily have told them. The horror of that realization made her swallow hard. He could make her life a living hell if he wanted to. A few choice words, and her newfound friends would ostracize her as surely as they had in Tamaqua.

And yet he hadn't done it. Why hadn't he done it?

The questions bombarded her, dizzying in their intensity. She'd told herself she'd try to trust him. But she knew that deep inside, she still expected his betrayal. She had not expected this support from him, this subtle care.

She felt suffocated suddenly. The voices were too loud, crowding her, the laughter and shouting of the children pounded in her head. She had to get out, had to breathe, had to think.

She glanced at her neighbors. They were talking animatedly. No one would notice if she slipped out for just a moment. There were blankets in Miriam's wagon, and they'd need them soon. She could go out just long enough to get them, long enough to get a breath of fresh air, to clear her mind.

Sari eased to the door, grabbing her coat from the peg. Quickly she slid out into the frigid night air.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against the sod wall, breathing deeply of the darkness. It felt so good here. Quiet and cold—a chill that seared her lungs and froze her nose. She tilted her head to stare at the sky. Here on the prairie, on the edge of the world, the night seemed close enough to touch. Sari felt as if she could reach up and snag one of the millions of stars that littered the dark sapphire blue like glitterdust—so thickly it was as if a fine film of

them covered the sky. There were no snow clouds tonight. Only clouds of stars.

Sari smiled slightly, but the beauty of the night was painful somehow. It tore at her heart, pulling at a void inside her. Even filling the emptiness with stars didn't ease that loneliness.

She pulled her collar more closely about her. The feeling had been with her most of her life. She should be used to it by now. She
was
used to it. It was just that Conor's unexpected support had startled her. Now, suddenly, she was beginning to want things again. Things that only Conor had ever been able to give her. Laughter, friendship, desire ...

But she remembered how quick he'd been to take them away before.

Sari blinked back tears as she made her way to the Grahams' wagon. Her boots clomped on the frozen ground, alerting the animals corralled against the wall of the barn. There was no room inside for them, but their closeness would help keep them warm through the cold night. Two horses raised their heads to nicker a soft greeting as she approached.

"Hello, boys," she murmured. She pressed against the buckboard, fumbling inside for the blankets. Their ears pricked as they watched her. "How're you doing? It's a pretty night, isn't it?" She felt for the blankets and found them, pulling them out, clutching them to her chest. "Yes, a pretty night," she breathed, turning back to the house.