Rainbows and Rapture (36 page)

“Maybe about fancy coaches,” he whispered. “About gold watches and fine suits. About…clean hands.”

As though she were awake and watching him, he kept his face blank. But he could not keep vacant his mind or his heart.

Old wounds he’d just begun to think were healing suddenly began to throb. Bitterness he’d believed was finally fading seared into him, burning him with fresh flames.

Memories of having lost something precious gripped him body and soul. He knew well that pain of loss, recognized its sharp, unrelenting torment immediately. He’d lived with it for sixteen years.

Russia had begun to soothe it. And now it was upon him once more. Russia couldn’t ease it again.

This time she was its cause.

* * *

Russia didn’t awaken until late morning the next day. Santiago was able to calm her anger over having missing her huge dinner by having a tremendous lunch consisting of the same foods sent up to her room.

“I talked to Dr. Frazier earlier, and he said that as long as you didn’t tire, you could do whatever you wanted,” he told her when she’d finished eating. “Do you feel like going shopping?”

“Shoppin’? Fer what?”

“Shopping for several things,” Santiago answered, his voice betraying no hint of the persistent and dismaying emotions he was battling inside. “Do you want to go?”

She nodded, tingling with a warm sensation when he took her hand and escorted her out of the hotel and down the street. She had a thought that holding her “relative’s” hand might seem strange to the townspeople who watched them, but she couldn’t seem to make herself let go.

In Lotty’s mercantile, Santiago bought her everything he saw her look at. Russia was amazed and speechless as he piled the counter with satin ribbons, flowered bonnets, kid slippers as well as good, sturdy boots, a new reticule, silk stockings, and a heavy sack of penny candy. When she refused to even consider the bottle of jasmine perfume he held out for her to see, he replenished her stock of flavoring oils instead. For himself he selected a new black hat, and was then forced to buy the Bible Lotty placed on the mountain of goods.

At the dressmaker’s shop next door, he found a rack of ready-made frocks that only needed hemming before they could be worn. He had the seamstress measure Russia while he examined the gowns. As if he knew everything there was to know about women’s apparel, he finally chose five that he deemed pretty, but prim and very proper. Heedless of the seamstress’s blushing cheeks, he instructed her and her assistants to add silky underwear and asked her to please sew the names of the days of the week on every undergarment.

Russia was completely overwhelmed by what he bought for her. Her arms were full of the packages from the general store, and the dressmaker had promised to have the gowns and underwear delivered to the hotel later that afternoon.

“Santiago, why’d you go and buy all this stuff?” she asked him as they walked back to the hotel. “I love ever’thing with ever’ bit o’ my heart, but I didn’t need—”

“Yes, you did. And I want you to throw away those ragged dresses you’ve been wearing since I met you.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me, Russia,” he said firmly, handing her up the steps in front of the hotel.

“I’ll toss out all my gowns ’cept fer my scarlet satin,” she informed him, quiet defiance edging her words.

He made no comment, but knew that if he had his way, she would never need to wear that crimson gown again. “Go to your room and lie down.”

“But—”

“Promise me you’ll take a nap.
Promise.
”

How could she resist the tender concern in those wonderful black eyes of his? “Oh, all right, I promise.”

Satisfied, Santiago turned and began walking down the street again.

“Where are you goin’?” Russia called.

“I’ll be back in a while.”

He increased his pace. In a few more minutes he was standing in front of the bank. Ben Clayton’s name was painted on the little window on the door. As he stared at the name, Russia’s words came back to him.

Whisperin’ Oaks is jist like my happily-ever-after town, Santiago. It’s jist the kinda place where I’ll live with my Prince Charmin’ one o’ these here days.

He swallowed. Hard. She’d done so much for him, and he now had the opportunity to do something for her. Something he hoped would be the answer to her every problem, her every dream.

He doubted he’d ever find
his
Princess Charming. But he could damn well try to help Russia get her prince.

He reached for the doorknob. Opening it would be opening the door not only to the bank, but perhaps to Russia’s happily-ever-after as well. Battling hesitation, he swung the door open wide and stepped inside.

Prince Ben Clayton Charming met him with a smile.

* * *

“Get dressed.”

Russia stared at Santiago as if he’d lost his mind. Ever since he’d returned from wherever he’d been earlier in the afternoon, he’d been quiet and distant, evading all of her questions and even refusing to be drawn into simple conversation.

And now he was in a hurry for her to dress. She looked at the gown he held out to her. It was a lovely shade of blue-green. Little pearl buttons decorated the front and creamy lace encircled the high neckline and wrists. She took it from him, stepped into it, and began fastening the buttons. Dressed, she put on the soft kid slippers Santiago dropped by her feet.

“We goin’ out to eat?” she asked. “It
is
dinnertime, y’know.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to her dressing table and picked up her brush. “Come here. I want to see if I can do something with your hair. Maybe we can pile it on your head the way other ladies do theirs.”

“What ladies?”

“The ones walking all over town.”

She slid her fingers through her hair, puzzled over his strange behavior. “But you ain’t never said nothin’ about the way I wear my hair before. You don’t like it down like this?”

If only she knew how he loved it down like that, he thought. If only he could tell her how beautiful it was. “Do you know how to put it up in one of those knots other women put theirs up in?”

She shook her head. “I ain’t never been good with my hair, Santiago. I’ve tried puttin’ it up, but I cain’t. I always wear it down.”

“Well, come here and let me see if I can do it.”

“Why—”

“Because I said so.”

Ordinarily, she’d have set him right in his place for ordering her about and acting so arrogant. But there was something in his eyes that stilled her tongue. Some sort of distress she’d never seen in them before. She walked to the stool in front of the vanity and sat down.

Behind her, Santiago looked at her mirrored reflection. Her gown was the same tantalizing color as her eyes, that odd but beautiful combination of vivid blue and startling green. Something tender seized him, holding him fast.

“Santiago? What—”

“Let’s see.” Lowering his gaze to her glistening tresses, he pretended to summon all his expertise with women. “I guess I should brush it first.”

Slowly, as if each passing moment were his last with her, he stroked the brush through her long hair. It tried to curl around the bristles and his fingers, and he knew in his heart there was no softer thing in the world than Russia’s hair.

He wanted to tell her so, but didn’t, deciding that the time to speak such things had come and gone. It made him hurt inside to remember he hadn’t taken advantage of that time when it had been his. “Clean,” he murmured instead. “It’s real clean, Russia.”

Though he did no more than brush her hair, Russia became completely undone by the sensuality of his languid actions. He stood so close to her. His hips kept touching her shoulders, his thighs caressed her back, his fingers grazed the side of her face and neck.

Her every sense began to pulse with arousal. She felt swept away by Santiago’s presence, his aura. His sultry gaze caught her luminous one in the mirror several times, and each time she wanted to jump off the stool and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to feel his lips crashing down on hers, wanted to feel tiny in his embrace.

She wanted the full measure of everything a man could give to a woman, and yet she couldn’t make herself show him that. She couldn’t understand his mood tonight. Couldn’t comprehend what it was that made him act so anxious, so odd.

She could only wait and hope that he would soon tell her.

A full ten minutes passed before Santiago was satisfied that he’d removed every tangle from her hair. Staring down at it, he thought of melted gold. He thought of red fire, too. Then he saw the colors of autumn. Yellow. Rust. Sun-warmed earth. He imagined satin. The luster of it, the mellow richness. God, he was thoroughly bewitched by the luxurious locks shimmering up at him.

He pushed his own hair off his shoulders, set the brush down, and took Russia’s red-gold tresses into his dark hands. After a moment of contemplation, he decided that the only way to make one of those female hair knots was to simply knot it. Just the way he did a rope.

Russia didn’t utter a word when she saw what he was doing. She only wondered how people would react when they saw the hairy lump at the nape of her neck.

Santiago stepped back and examined his work. He patted the hair knot here and there, finally dropping his hand to his side. “It looks terrible.”

“It ain’t that bad. I could wear a hat.”

“Yes, a hat.” He retrieved a perky straw bonnet from a box by the dresser and placed it on her head, pulling down the sides to make sure it would stay on.

The rim of the bonnet scratching her eyelids, Russia tried to peer up at him. “You smashed it down so low that I cain’t even see.”

He raised it, but still hated what he saw. Aggravated, he jerked it off and undid the knot he’d made of her hair. “You’ll have to wear it down. Put a ribbon in it, or something. I don’t know, Russia. Santa Maria, just make it pretty!”

His sudden outburst made her jump. She did her best to swallow her anger and confusion. “Why are you yellin’?”
she asked softly. “Why is my hair so plumb nelly important tonight?”

“Where are your ribbons?”

She pointed to the pile of them on the table.

He selected a red one.

“That color don’t go with this dress.”

He looked at her gown again, then selected an ivory one. “Put it on.”

She took it from him and tied it on, patting the bow on the top of her head. “We goin’ out to eat?” she asked again.

He handed her her new reticule, took her hand, and led her into the hall.

“Santiago, are we goin’ out to—”

“You are.”

“You ain’t goin’ with me?”

He helped her down the stairs, steadying her when she tripped, then escorted her into the lobby. “No, I’m not going,” he finally answered.

“I’m goin’ alone?”

Santiago took her to the door and peered out of its little oval window. What he saw outside made him clench his jaw for a few moments. Struggling to conceal his seething emotions, he turned and took hold of Russia’s shoulders. “You aren’t going alone, Russia. Your escort is outside waiting for you.”

“What? Who is it?” She looked out the window. Leaning against his shiny black coach was Ben Clayton. “Ben?”

Why didn’t she recognize the man as Prince Charming?

Santiago wondered, then decided that maybe she needed more time to see the similarities. “Go on now, Russia. He’s waiting. And don’t worry about anything. Ben looks real decent to me, and you… Russia, you look— You look decent, too.”

She
did
look decent, he thought, looking her up and down. She looked like any prim and proper woman in the town, except that her beauty far surpassed theirs. True, her gown did nothing at all to hide her lush curves, but Russia
couldn’t very well help having such a lovely body. No one in Whispering Oaks would condemn her for that. Still, he hated the thought of Gentleman Ben enjoying the sight of those lush curves all evening.

Russia turned from the window, so bewildered she couldn’t think straight. “You—I—Ben—Santiago, we—”

“Have a good time. You can tell me all about it when you get back.”

Before she could argue, he opened the door and gently nudged her out of it. She turned, fully intending to go back inside and discuss the situation with him.

But Ben was suddenly by her side, pressing his lips to the top of her trembling hand.

Even if there had been twenty other restaurants in town, Mama Melly’s would still have been the best. One had only to smell the delicious aromas that filled the warm, cozy establishment, and one knew the food was not only excellent, but also prepared by loving hands.

As Ben accepted the menu from the young waitress, she grinned at him. Her big blue eyes glanced at Russia for a moment, then settled on Ben again. “Evenin’ Ben,” she said softly, her face glowing.

He returned her smile. “Cherry, this is Russia Valentine.”

“Welcome to Whispering Oaks, Miss Valentine,” Cherry murmured, her luminous gaze never leaving Ben.

Ben took it upon himself to do the ordering. Russia had a mind to tell him she could pick out her own dinner, but decided not to say a word. Ben was a proper gentleman, and since she knew very little about polished behavior, she was determined to learn all she could from him. Decent manners were good things to know.

While watching him pick and choose from the menu, she wondered how her evening with him had come about and why Santiago hadn’t come along. She wanted to ask Ben himself, but thought that maybe that wasn’t a proper thing to do. The man was buying her dinner, and she realized she should just enjoy the night.

Still, she missed Santiago.

“Your napkin, Russia,” Ben murmured to her from across the table after Cherry had brought their meals.